BvJahn  F Ale  Cute  he  on 


*i 


THE 
RESTLESS  AGE 


BY 

JOHN  T.  McCUTCHEON 


Author  of 
IN  AFRICA,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  CARTOONS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1920-1921 
The  Chicago  Tribune 

Copyright  1921 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


Acknowledging  with  thanks  the  courtesy 

of  The  Chicago  Tribune  for  permission  to 

publish  in  book  form. 


pRces  OF 

BRAUNWORTH    &    CO. 

BOOK    MANUFACTURCR8 

BROOKLYN.     N.    Y. 


THE 
RESTLESS  AGE 


THE  gray  sliabbiness  of  wiuter  was  giving  way  to  the 
first  flush  of  fresh  spring  loveliness.  Trees  and 
shrubs  were  dappled  with  tender  green.  The  farm  was 
awakening  to  the  magic  touch  of  spring. 

On  all  sides  nature  was  stirring  with  hints  of  the  f  rait- 
ful  richness  of  the  months  to  come.  Already  the  barn- 
yard was  simmering  to  the  sunny  music  of  clucking  hens 

1 


wilS',dGB7 


2  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

and  peeping  chicks,  and  before  long  there  would  be  new 
calves  and  colts  and  puppies  and  pigs  to  add  to  the  busy 
joyousness  of  life  in  the  country. 

A  young  man  was  standing  near  the  door  of  the  barn. 
In  the  lapel  of  his  coat  was  a  service  button  which  told 
of  service  abroad.  He  was  about  twenty-three  years  old 
and,  although  he  had  been  out  of  the  army  for  over  a  year, 
he  still  showed  the  clear-eyed  and  clean-cut  effects  of  his 
military  training. 

His  eyes  were  following  the  course  of  a  distant  train 
which  was  whistling  for  the  stop  at  the  village  station. 
In  another  five  minutes  it  would  have  stopped,  taken  on 
its  passengers  and  then  moved  onward  toward  the  great 
city,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  north. 

A  look  of  restless  discontent  settled  in  the  young 
man's  eyes.  His  hand  clenched  and  unclenched 
nervously. 

"I've  got  to  go,"  he  muttered,  "If  I  stick  around 
here  much  longer  I'll  go  crazy.  I  simply  can't  stand  it." 
He  brooded  for  a  moment.  "I  guess  the  travel  and  excite- 
ment have  spoiled  me  for  this  life.  I  used  to  like  it  here 
on  the  farm,  but  since  I  came  back  from  the  other  side 
the  place  seems  deadly  monotonous." 

His  eyes  turned  toward  the  comfortable  old  farm- 
house, surrounded  by  its  cluster  of  big  oak  trees. 


THE     EESTLESS    AGE  3 

"There'll  be  an  awful  kick  from  the  folks,"  he 
thought,  "especially  as  it's  so  hard  to  get  help  these  days. 
They  won't  want  me  to  leave  'em  in  the  lurch  and  go  to 
the  citj'.  But,  great  Scott,  there's  no  life  out  herel 
Their  idea  of  an  eight-hour  day  is  eight  hours  in  the  fore- 
noon and  eight  in  the  afternoon. 

"Out  of  the  ten  boys  who  enlisted  from  the  farms 
around  here  I'm  the  only  one  who  has  come  back.  The 
rest  are  all  up  in  the  city,  having  the  time  of  their  lives 
and  making  more  easy  money  than  I  ever  saw.  They're 
seeing  life,  but  as  for  me,  the  same  old  grind  day  after 
day." 

The  sound  of  the  locomotive  whistle  came  from  the 
distant  village.    It  seemed  to  decide  him. 

"I'm  going!"  he  exclaimed,  "folks  or  no  folks  I" 

For  an  instant  his  lip  trembled. 

"I  wonder  how  Emilv  will  take  it." 


,»"<*^'i£-i^«iv  ' 


"So  Tou  want  to  leave  the  farm,  eh?" 

The  farmer  looked  up  at  his  sou, 

"Yes,  sir.  I  thiuk  I  can  do  better  up  there.  There 
are  more  opportunities  in  the  city.  Every  day  you  read 
how  much  they're  making." 

The  father  smiled  grimly. 

"Yes,  and  you  read  how  other  people  are  getting  it 
away  from  'em  as  fast  as  they  make  it.  'Pears  to  me  I 
hear  more  complaints  about  high  prices  than  rejoicings 
about  high  wages.  Don't  overlook  the  fact,  son,  that 
your  dollar  in  the  city  don't  go  very  far  these  days.  Out 
here  you  can  hang  on  to  it. ' ' 

The  boy  shifted  imeasily,  but  his  expression  became 
set  in  its  dogged  resolution. 

5 


6  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

"Most  of  the  boys  have  left  the  farms  and  are  now  in 
the  cities, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Of  the  bunch  that  went  to  France 
from  this  section  I  'm  the  only  one  who  hasn  't. ' '  His  face 
lighted  up. 

"I  had  a  letter  to-day  from  Tom  Austin.  He  says 
there's  no  trouble  at  all  getting  work.  He  says  he  could 
have  his  pick  from  a  dozen  different  jobs." 

"Has  he  settled  down  to  one  of  'em  yet?"  asked  the 
father. 

"No,  not  yet.  He's  looking  around  for  just  the  right 
one — one  he's  interested  in." 

The  father  smiled  again,  this  time  with  a  touch  of  bit- 
terness. "I  reckon  there  are  a  lot  of  young  fellows  in 
that  boat.  Times  have  changed.  Now 'days  a  boy  won't 
take  a  job  unless  it's  congenial  and  then  don't  care 
whether  he  holds  it,  because  he's  always  sure  of  getting 
another  one.  There's  no  incentive  to  work  hard  any 
more." 

' '  But  I  intend  to  work  hard,  father.  I  'm  not  going  up 
there  just  to  have  a  good  time." 

"Well,  I  hope  not,  son."  The  father  cleared  his 
throat  to  hide  the  tremor  in  his  voice.  "When  do  vou 
reckon  on  going?" 

"Right  away,  father,  just  as  soon  as  you  can  get  some 
one  to  take  my  place." 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  7 

There  was  a  long  pause, 

"Well,"  said  the  older  man,  "if  you've  decided  to  go  I 
s'pose  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said.  You're  over 
twenty-one.  Of  course  we  don't  like  to  have  you  go. 
You  know  how  we're  fixed  out  here  in  the  matter  of  help. 
All  the  young  fellows  seem  crazy  to  get  up  to  the  city. 
There's  lots  more  to  see  and  do  up  there " 

"It  isn't  that,  father,"  interrupted  the  son.  "It's 
because  there  are  more  opportunities,  especially  now 
when  such  big  wages  are  being  paid  and  when  there's  such 
a  demand  for  men." 

"Following  that  line  of  argument,  everybody  on  the 
farm  will  hike  off  to  the  city.  And  you  know  where  that 
will  lead  us.  You  folks  in  the  city  will  have  no  food.  Out 
here  we'll  manage  our  three  meals  a  day,  while  the  city 
will  be  yelling  itself  hoarse  for  something  to  eat  at  any 
price."  The  thought  gave  him  keen  enjoyment.  Then 
he  became  serious  again. 

"Have  you  told  your  mother  yet?" 

"Just  now,  in  the  kitchen.    She's  gone  up-stairs." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  you  know  what  she'd  say." 

"Well,  son,  it's  your  funeral.  You're  the  doctor.  If 
you're  detennined  to  go — "  here  his  voice  trembled  and 
he  wiped  his  glasses  vigorouslj^    "I  had  kind  o'  figured 


8  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

<>u  your  staying  here  and  heli3ing  nie.  I  think  you're 
making  a  mistake.  In  the  long  run  I  think  you'd  do  bet- 
ter here  than  in  the  city.    But  that 's  up  to  you. ' ' 

He  looked  out  across  the  wide  acres  of  rich  farm  land. 
The  distant  song  of  the  meadow-lark  reached  his  ears. 
His  face  saddened. 

"I  guess  there's  nothing  more  for  me  to  say.  How 
about  Emily?    Have  you  broken  it  to  her?" 

It  was  the  boy 's  turn  to  show  emotion. 

"I'm  going  over  to  tell  her  to-night,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 


Mr.  harbridge  was  au  enlightened  farmer.  He  be- 
lieved that  life  holds  something  besides  hard  work  and 
profits.  Each  year,  instead  of  putting  all  his  profits  back 
into  the  business,  he  devoted  part  to  making  life  pleas- 
anter  for  his  wife  and  daughter, 

"The  women  on  the  farms  have  the  hard  time,"  he 
would  say,  "and  it's  a  good  investment  to  keep  them 
contented." 

He  followed  the  same  policy  with  his  men.  Besides 
paying  them  well  he  provided  recreation,  the  lack  of 
which  so  often  drives  labor  from  the  country. 

His  farms  were  operated  scientifically  and  the  men 
who  worked  for  him  became  in  time  skilled  agriculturists. 

9 


10  THE    EESTLESS    AGE 

Those  who  showed  industry  and  intelligence  were  aided 
in  their  desire  to  become  independent  farmers. 

"The  one  big  human  impulse,"  he  often  said,  "is  self- 
interest.  It's  the  driving  force  that  makes  folks  work. 
You've  got  to  give  a  man  something  to  look  forward  to — 
something  besides  his  bare  living — if  you  expect  him  to 
go  forward.  Self-interest  is  just  another  name  for  hope, 
though  it  don't  sound  so  nice." 

His  philosophy  was  successful.  By  considering  the 
ambitions  and  hopes  of  others  as  well  as  his  own,  he  re- 
tained help  when  other  farmers  bewailed  its  scarcity. 

"You  see,  my  policy  ain't  entirely  unselfish.  I  get 
better  work  and  better  results.  If  a  man  sticks  and  does 
his  work  I'll  help  him,  and  he  knows  it.  If  he  don't 
that's  his  own  lookout.  There's  always  some  natviral 
drifters  who  don't  stick  to  one  job  long  enough  to  do  it  or 
them  any  good.  They're  hopeless,  but  the  stayer  deserves 
a  square  deal.  He  must  have  the  same  chance  to  improve 
his  position  that  the  city  worker  has." 

Mr.  Harbridge's  two  older  daughters  were  the  wives 
of  tenant  farmers  who  operated  their  father's  farms  on 
shares. 

Emily  was  his  only  unmarried  daughter — twenty  and 
pretty,  with  eyes  brimming  over  with  friendliness. 

On  a  certain  evening  in  April  she  was  sitting  with  her 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  11 

parents  in  the  living-room  of  the  old  farm-house. 
Through  the  window  came  the  fresh  clean  smell  of  spring. 
Her  eyes  often  sought  the  clock,  but  it  was  not  of  bedtime 
she  was  thinking.  Her  hair  was  arranged  with  special 
care  and  her  dress  was  one  of  her  prettiest. 

Her  father  looked  up  from  his  newspaper. 

"Well,"  he  said  as  he  took  off  his  glasses,  "the  city- 
folks  are  having  their  troubles  these  days.  Labor  and 
capital  seem  to  be  getting  most  of  the  money,  and  the 
eighty  per  cent,  in  between  are  getting  the  worries. 
They're  the  ones — the  big,  helpless,  unorganized  middle 
class — that  I  pity.  And  that's  where  most  of  these  boys 
who  are  leaving  the  farms  will  land.  They  all  want  white- 
collar  jobs." 

He  brightened  up. 

"But  .you'll  see  'em  tramping  back  to  the  farms  be- 
fore long.  They'll  get  sick  of  being  robbed  in  the  day- 
time and  squeezed  into  a  two-by-four  room  at  night." 

He  smiled  at  the  thought. 

"By  the  way,  Emily,  I  was  driving  past  George  Wick- 
ham's  place  to-day  and  I  saw  Tom." 

Emily  looked  up  quickly. 

"I  didn't  get  a  chance  to  talk  to  him.  He  was  tinker- 
ing with  an  auto  out  near  the  barn." 

He  looked  at  his  daughter. 


12  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

"There's  a  level-headed  boy,  Emily.  He's  sticking  to 
the  farm.    He  won't  be  carried  away  by  this  city  fever." 

Emily  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"He's  coming  over  to-night,  father.  He  telephoned 
that  he  wanted  to  see  me  about  something." 

Her  eyes  were  bright  as  she  looked  out  at  the  moonlit 
fields. 


Emily  harbeidge  answered  a  familiar  knock  at  the 
front  door.    Tom  Wickham  had  come. 

"Well,  speaking  of  angels — "  she  began.  "We  were 
talking  about  yon  just  a  minnte  ago." 

"Well,  thinking  of  angels,"  he  answered,  "I've  been 
thinking  of  you  all  day." 

She  smiled.  She  was  accustomed  to  his  compliments, 
but  she  feared  they  came  more  easily  since  he  had  been 
in  France. 

"Couldn't  you  find  anything  else  to  think  about?" 
she  asked. 

"Nothing  half  so  nice.  Honestly,  Emily,  you're  get- 
ting prettier  every  day." 

13 


14  THE     EESTLESS    AGE 

She  led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  where  the  girl's  par- 
ents greeted  the  young  man  with  smiling  amiability.  He 
was  evidently  high  in  the  family  favor. 

"Father  has  just  been  paying  you  a  compliment, 
haven't  you,  father?" 

"We  were  just  talking  about  all  the  yoimg  fellows 
leaving  the  farms,"  said  Mr.  Harbridge,  "and  I  allowed 
as  how  you  were  one  who  wouldn't  get  caught  by  the  epi- 
demic.   I  guess  that 's  what  Emily  meant. ' ' 

The  boy's  face  was  a  study.  Its  expression  changed 
instantly.  The  smile  was  gone  and  his  troubled  eyes 
showed  the  real  distress  he  was  feeling.  He  did  not  an- 
swer, and  his  silence  became  significant. 

Emily  sensed  the  strain,  and  a  moment  later  the  older 
people  were  vaguely  conscious  of  something  wrong.  Mr. 
Harbridge  wondered  if  he  had  said  anything  to  embarrass 
the  young  man. 

After  an  awkward  i^ause  Tom  turned  to  Emily. 

"Don't  you  want  to  ride  over  to  town  and  see  the 
movies?" 

For  a  long  time  after  the  car  started  nothing  was 
said.    At  last  she  spoke : 

"What's  the  matter,  Tom?" 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing  much,  Emily,  I'm  sorry  if 
I'm  acting  like  a  gloom." 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  15 

"Please,  Tom,  tell  me."  She  wanted  to  press  his  arm, 
but  this  was  a  new  and  a  strange  Tom.  He  had  never 
acted  this  way  before. 

"Why,  there's  nothing  the  matter,  Emily.  Maybe  it's 
spring  fever  or  something." 

The  girl  was  conscious  of  the  vague  unhappiness  that 
crept  over  her.  Something  was  wrong,  something  far 
from  the  happiness  she  felt  this  night  had  in  store  for  her. 
She  had  looked  forward  to  his  coming  so  eagerly — since 
he  had  telephoned  that  he  had  something  to  tell  her.  Her 
lips  quivered  with  disappointment. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Emily."  He  slowed  the  car  until  it 
barely  moved.  "I  don't  know  whether  you  can  under- 
stand or  not,  but  ever  since  I  came  back  from  the  other 
side  I've  been  so  restless  I  sometimes  don't  think  I  can 
stand  it.  When  I  was  over  there,  in  the  mud  and  all  that, 
I  used  to  say,  'All  I  want  in  the  world  is  to  get  back  to 
God's  country.'  I  wanted  to  be  home,  here,  with  all  the 
people  and  things  I  love.  I  was  sick  of  travel  and  for- 
eigners. In  my  imagination  this  old  home  seemed  like 
heaven. ' ' 

His  words  came  faster  and  faster  as  all  the  pent-up 
emotions  of  many  stifled  months  burst  loose. 

"And  then,  when  I  came  back,  and  all  the  people  made 
a  hero  of  me  for  a  week  or  two,  I  was  never  so  happy.    I 


16  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

had  the  happiness  of  having  gone  and  of  having  done  my 
job  with  some  credit.  But  then,  after  a  few  weeks,  I 
wanted  to  be  going  again,  and  that's  the  way  it's  been  for 
months.  All  the  rest  have  gone  to  the  city  and  I — I" — 
his  voice  faltered — "Emily,  I  want  to  go,  too." 

Emily   was   crying   softly.      She   was   inexpressibly 
miserable. 

"Poor  Tom!"  she  murmured.    "I'm  so  sorry." 
They  did  not  go  to  the  movies,  but  returned  home. 
She  said  a  choking  good  night  at  the  door,  and  her  parents 
heard  her  come  in  and  go  at  once  to  her  room.    She  had 
not  come  in  to  say  good  night. 


/(^^i-o^-^ 


Emily  Hakbbidge  spent  a  sleepless  night.  She  tried  to 
think  calmly,  to  see  the  situation  from  Tom's  point  of 
view,  but  through  all  her  troubled  thoughts  ran  a  per- 
sistent one  which  would  not  down,  one  that  hurt  more 
than  she  dared  admit — that  he  was  leaving  her  and  that 
he  wanted  to  go.  It  kept  poimding  on  her  consciousness 
with  painful  repetition. 

And  why  shouldn't  he  go  to  the  city  if  he  wanted  to? 
She  realized  the  lure  of  the  city,  the  crowds,  the  big 
wages,  the  diversions  that  api^eal  to  restless  youth,  and 
against  all  these  attractions  what  had  the  peaceful  coun- 
try to  offer "? 

A  clean  and  wholesome  life,  a  healthy  out-of-door 
existence,  the  importance  of  being  a  producer  instead  of 

17 


18  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

a  consumer,  the  chance  for  independence  instead  of  being 
a  subordinate — these  were  things  which  to  her  seemed 
important  considerations,  but  to  a  young  man  impelled  by 
curiosity,  restlessness,  and  the  spirit  of  adventure,  what 
weight  would  they  have  in  affecting  his  decision?  She 
wondered  why  everybody  didn't  flock  to  the  cities. 

How  was  she  to  know  that  in  millions  of  city  hearts 
there  is  the  ever-abiding  dream  of  a  farm  and  the  raising 
of  chickens,  and  fresh  vegetables,  and  children  strong 
and  rugged  from  good  air  and  wholesome  food? 

The  thought  of  children  thrilled  her,  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  mournful  procession  of  thoughts  related  to  it. 
Tom  had  never  asked  her  to  marry  him — at  any  rate,  not 
in  so  many  words.  But  it  had  been  sort  of  understood. 
Even  the  neighborhood  took  it  for  granted. 

And  now  he  was  thinking  of  going  away  without  say- 
ing the  words  which  she  felt  were  in  his  mind  but  which 
she  so  longed  to  hear  spoken  out  loud.  Would  he  speak 
them  before  he  left  ? 

Pei-iiaps  to-morrow — and  with  the  glow  of  hope  from 
this  cheering  thought  she  finally  dropped  into  an  uneasy 
sleep.  And  it  was  this  thought  that  sprang  up  in  her 
first  waking  moments  when  the  dajiight  was  streaming 
through  the  open  window.  She  looked  at  the  clock.  It 
was  after  seven ! 


THE    EESTLESS    AGE'  19 

At  that  moment  Tom  was  boarding  a  train  in  the  vil- 
lage three  miles  away.  He  was  starting  for  the  great 
city,  and  with  each  click  of  the  rails  he  became  more  mis- 
erable, depressed  by  two  haunting  reflections. 

He  was  leaving  his  father's  farm  at  a  time  when  he 
was  urgently  needed,  when  his  leaving  inflicted  a  hard- 
ship on  the  one  who  deserved  all  he  could  give.  And 
Emily  ?  What  could  she  think  of  him  sneaking  away  like 
this  ?  She  who  also  deserved  far  better  treatment.  But 
he  would  write  her  just  as  soon  as  he  got  to  the  city.  And, 
besides,  he  had  so  much  dreaded  the  good-bys  to  Emily. 
The  more  he  thought  of  her — 

"Hello,  Tom;  going  up  to  the  big  town?"  A  friendly 
hand  slapped  his  shoulder.  It  was  Bud  Andrews,  who 
had  been  playmate,  schoolmate  and  messmate.  Well,  he 
would  have  company,  pleasanter  company  than  his  own 
depressing  thoughts. 

Bud  sat  down. 

"We're  up  against  it  over  on  our  farm.  Two  of  our 
men  left  yesterday  and  I'm  going  up  to  try  to  get  a  couple 
to  take  their  places.  Father's  half  crazy.  All  work  held 
back  three  or  four  weeks  by  the  cold  weather,  and  now 
these  two  birds  quitting  just  as  they  can  be  of  some 
use." 

Tom  looked  soberly  out  of  the  window,  where  every 


20  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

field  showed  the  effects  of  backward  weather  and  back- 
ward labor  and  where  the  idle  freight  cars  stood  con- 
gested and  useless  on  the  sidings. 

"Tom,"  said  Bud  gravely,  "I  wonder  if  people  laiow 
what's  ahead  of  them.  The  government  will  have  to  send 
a  recruiting  squad  up  to  these  city  birds  and  conscript 
enough  labor  to  grow  a  crop  or  else  you'll  see  bread  riots 
and  machine  guns  in  the  streets  next  winter." 


DuBiNG  the  five-hour  train  ride  Tom  Wickham  dis- 
cussed with  Bud  Andrews  the  wisdom  of  his  determina- 
tion to  leave  the  farm  and  try  his  luck  in  the  city. 

"You're  making  a  mistake,"  Bud  said,  "You're  too 
late.  The  easy-money  period  is  about  over  and  the  city 
man  has  some  rough  sledding  ahead  of  him.  The  gent  out 
in  the  corn-field  will  be  the  lucky  boy  from  now  on. 

"Tom,"  he  continued,  "you  have  a  case  of  jazzitis  and 
I'd  just  like  to  bet  a  can  of  goldfish  you  won't  stick  in  one 
job  longer  than  a  month  after  you  get  it.  If  you  do  stick, 
and  work  hard,  you'll  find  that  life  in  the  city  can  be  just 
as  much  of  a  grind  as  life  in  the  country.  And  if  you 
don't  stick  you  won't  amount  to  anything.  You  can 
enlighten  the  world  on  that." 

21 


22  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"Yes,  I  know  all  that,"  Tom  answered.  "But  you'll 
have  to  admit  the  opportunities  are  greater  in  the  city. 
And,  besides,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  "why 
should  a  man  work  on  the  farm  to  feed  a  bunch  of  birds 
in  the  city  who  are  dragging  down  two  or  three  times  what 
he  is  getting  1  I  fought  for  'em  for  a  dollar  a  day  while 
they  were  making  ten  or  twelve  at  home,  and  now  why 
should  I  keep  on  working  to  feed  'em  while  they  continue 
to  make  big  wages?" 

Bud  smiled. 

"Tom,  that  listens  all  right,  but  don't  forget  the  man 
on  the  farm  with  his  hundred  a  month  can  save  more  than 
the  guy  up  in  town  who  is  making  twice  as  much.  Under 
present  conditions  city  life  is  like  a  madhouse.  Every- 
body grabbing  and  nobody  satisfied,  no  matter  how  much 
he  makes.  As  for  me,  I'll  stick  down  in  the  base  of  sup- 
plies where  the  eats  come  from,  and  in  ten  years  from  now 
I'll  bet  I  have  more  money  and  a  better  digestion  than 
you  have." 

In  all  the  ride  neither  one  had  referred  to  Emily  Har- 
bridge,  although  she  had  been  in  the  thoughts  of  both 
during  much  of  the  long  journey.  Bud  wondered  if  there 
had  been  a  split-up.  He  resolved  to  find  out  just  as  soon 
as  he  got  home.  ^ 

Before  parting  at  the  station  it  was  agreed  that  they 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  23 

would  dine  at  Tom's  hotel  before  Bud  caught  his  eve- 
ning train  home. 

As  Tom  walked  toward  the  hotel  he  contrasted  the 
present  visit  with  a  former  one. 

Then  he  was  in  uniform,  swinging  through  the  streets 
under  waving  flags  to  the  music  of  a  stirring  war-time 
march.  Thousands  of  people  cheered  as  he  and  his  com- 
rades flowed  like  an  olive-drab  river  between  banks  of 
humanity  with  the  windows,  high  in  the  canyon-like  walls 
of  the  buildings,  bright  with  fluttering  handkerchiefs. 

Many  an  eye  was  dimmed  and  many  a  throat  tightened 
as  they  went  marching  off  to  war. 

Then,  he  was  cheered  by  everybody.  Now,  he  walked 
unnoticed  through  these  selfsame  crowds,  a  stranger 
swallowed  up  in  the  vast  loneliness  of  crowded  city  streets. 

"Can  a  fellow  ever  feel  at  home  here?"  he  wondered. 

At  the  hotel  he  registered,  and  the  impersonal  look  of 
appraisal  which  the  clerk  gave  him  revealed  only  a  tall, 
decent-looking  young  man  wearing  a  service  button  and 
with  the  healthy  color  of  the  outdoors  in  his  face. 

"You  don't  get  that  complexion  in  the  city,"  thought 
the  clerk,  as  he  blotted  the  name  and  address. 

A  moment  later  Tom  was  following  the  porter  to  the 
elevator  and  did  not  notice  the  young  woman  who  ap- 
proached the  desk  and  studied  the  register. 


She  looked  at  the  register  and  fixed  the  name  and 
address  in  her  memory, 

"Thomas  Wickham,  Grangefield,  Illinois. 

"From  a  hick  town,"  she  reflected,  "and  wearing  a 
silver  service  button.  Wounded,  therefore,  in  France. 
Not  in  the  Blackhawks,  because  the.y  didn't  get  into 
action.    Mavbe  a  Buck  or  in  aviation 


It  ought  to  be 


easv, 


That  afternoon,  as  Tom  was  leaving  the  hotel,  he  nar- 
rowly avoided  colliding  with  a  young  woman.  As  he 
hastened  to  apologize  their  eyes  met  and  an  instant  change 
swept  over  her  face. 

"Well,  for  goodness'  sake!  To  think  of  seeing  you 
here!" 

25 


26  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

He  smiled  awkwardly  as  he  tried  to  place  her. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  do  you?"  she  exclaimed. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't — quite,"  he  said  apologetically. 
"I'm  awfully  sorry." 

"Brest!  Now  do  you  remember?"  As  his  face  still 
showed  mystification  she  hastened  to  add:  "I'm  sure  it 
was  Brest.  Or  was  it  St.  Nazaire  ?  I  was  in  both  places. ' ' 
And,  without  waiting  his  answer,  she  continued:  "My 
goodness,  do  I  look  so  different  in  civvies?  Aren't  you 
Mr.  Wickham?    I'm  sure  I  can't  be  mistaken!" 

"Yes,  but " 

"Didn't  you  use  to  come  to  the  Y  in  Brest,"  she  hur- 
ried on,  "just  before  you  sailed?  And  don't  you  remem- 
ber how  crazy  you  were  to  get  home — to  some  small  town 
in  Illinois — or  was  it  Indiana  ?  I  can  almost  remember 
the  name.  Granger,  or  Grangeland,  or  something  like 
that.  I  think  you  had  been  wovuided  or  sick  or  some- 
thing." 

"Sure!"  he  exclaimed.  "So  you  were  one  of  the  Y 
girls ?    Say,  I'd  never  have  known  you  in  that  get-up." 

She  smiled  pleasantly.  She  was  a  most  friendly  look- 
ing soul,  and  to  a  young  man  undergoing  his  first  spasm 
of  loneliness  in  a  great  city  she  seemed  sent  by  some 
providential  dispensation. 

"Ah,  now  you  know  me!    I  was  beginning  to  feel  em- 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  27 

barrassed — and  very  much  hurt,  too."  Though  her 
words  were  mildly  accusing  her  eyes  were  full  of  welcome 
and  forgiveness.  Tom  was  wondering  how  in  the  world 
he  could  ever  have  forgotten  her.  He  vainly  searched 
his  memory  in  an  effort  to  recall  her.  So  he  said,  rather 
lamely : 

"Why,  say,  this  is  great!  I'm  awfully  glad  to  meet 
you — again.  I'll  never  forget  those  days  in  Brest — mud- 
dy, and  homesick,  and  crazy  to  get  started  home." 

"You  always  called  me  'Sister,'  "  she  murmured, 
reminiscently. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  called  'em  all  'Sister.'  You  girls 
were  sure  a  godsend  to  us  homesick  Yanks.  Did  I  ever 
know  your  real  name  ?" 

"Never,"  she  answered,  laughing.  "So  far  as  the 
A.  E.  F.  went,  I  was  incog!  I  was  'Sister'  to  them  all. 
But  I  did  hope  some  of  them  would  not  forget  me  so 


soon." 


"Oh,  please  don't!"  he  protested.  "I'm  sorry  if  I 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  you.    Do  you  live  here?" 

"jSTo,"  she  said,  becoming  serious;  "I  live  in  St.  Paul, 
I'm  just  here  to  meet  my  father,  but  there  was  a  wreck  or 
something  and  his  train  is  hours  late,  and  so  I  must  kill 
time." 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  hastened  to  say,  prompted  as 


28  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

much  by  a  craving  for  companionship  as  by  politeness. 
"It's  one  of  the  best  things  I  do." 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  her  brows  contracted  in  a  quiz- 
zical little  frown,  "I  suppose  it  is  not  quite  proper,  but  I 
got  used  to  worrying  along  without  chaperons  during  the 
war — "  here  she  smiled  engagingly.  "But  you  really 
don't  deserve  it.  Will  you  promise  not  to  forget  me  in 
the  future?" 

"I  certainly  won't  forget  you!"  exclaimed  Tom,  with 
genuine  sincerity. 

He  never  spoke  a  truer  word,  although  he  didn't  fully 
realize  it  at  the  time. 

As  they  left  the  hotel,  each  in  high  spirits  and  talking 
gaily,  a  young  man  coming  out  gazed  after  them  in  sur- 
prise.   It  was  Bud  Andrews. 

"Gosh!"  he  murmured.  "Tom's  a  quick  worker! 
In  society  already.    I  wonder  where  he  picked  her  up." 

He  watched  them  enter  a  yellow  and  drive  away. 

"Also,  while  I'm  busy  wondering,  I  wonder  if  our  din- 
ner engagement  is  off." 


Tom  and  "Sister"  settled  back  in  the  taxi  as  it 
threaded  its  way  through  the  swirl  of  traffic. 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"This  is  going  to  be  such  fun!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
love  adventures !  Here  we  are,  you  and  I,  strangers  and 
alone  in  the  great  city,  with  hours  ahead  of  us.  We're 
in  the  lap  of  the  gods,  let  come  what  may."  She  paused 
and  allowed  her  eyes  to  linger  for  a  moment  on  his.  "I 
hope  you  won't  find  me  lacking  in  the  spirit  of 
adventure." 

Here  was  an  opening  which  she  expected  him  to  seize, 
but  his  eyes  turned  from  her  to  the  bewildering  panorama 
of  city  life  that  was  being  unreeled  as  they  shot  along. 
Ab   endless   stream   of   flashing  motor-cars,   sidewalks 

29 


30  THE     RESTLESS     AGE 

thronged  with  sauntering  people,  all  well-dressed,  and 
shop  windows  crowded  with  beautiful  articles  temptingly 
displayed. 

"Where  does  all  the  money  come  from?"  he  said, 
wonderingly.  "Everybody's  kicking  about  high  prices 
and  everybody's  buying  like  mad.  I'll  bet  there  are  a  lot 
of  folks  running  cars  who  can't  afford  it.  I've  seen  at 
least  a  million  cars  since  noon,  and,  believe  me,  I  know 
what  it  costs  to  run  a  car  these  days. ' ' 

"What  make  of  car  have  you?"  asked  "Sister," 
quickly.  Here  was  a  chance  to  get  a  line  on  his  financial 
rating.  The  make  of  cars  was  her  Bradstreet,  the  barom- 
eter by  which  she  appraised  the  probable  bank-accounts 
of  those  she  met. 

"We  have  a  couple  of  cars  down  on  the  farm,"  he 
answered,  "but  we  use  the  old  flivver  most  of  the  time." 

She  wondered  what  the  other  car  was.  Two  cars! 
That  sounded  pleasantly  solvent.  From  the  corner  of  her 
eyes  she  studied  his  strong,  sunburned  face,  and  when  its 
lines  hardened  a  little  her  watchful  eyes  were  quick  to 
note  the  change. 

' '  'What  are  you  thinking  about  ? ' '  she  asked.  ' '  You  're 
not  repenting  of  our  adventure  already,  are  you?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "biit  just  look!  Men,  men,  men 
everywhere.     Crowds  of  'em  standing  in  line  before  a 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  31 

theater,  crowds  of  'em  watching  a  sign  painter,  more 
crowds  watching  a  safe  being  lowered.  And  yet  they  say 
America  has  no  leisure  class !" 

"Yes,  but  what  of  that 9"  she  asked.  "You  always 
see  crowds  like  that  in  the  cities,  don't  you?" 

"I  s'pose  so,  but  just  now  out  in  the  country  the  farm- 
ers are  praying  for  men  to  help  with  the  crops  that  are  to 
feed  all  these  idle  men.  Next  winter,  when  food  is  scarce 
and  expensive,  these  birds  will  be  yelling  themselves 
hoarse  at  the  high  prices." 

She  nodded  gTavely,  as  if  interested  and  impressed, 
but,  within,  she  was  irritated  that  his  thoughts  persisted 
in  an  economic  vein  rather  than  in  one  more  complimen- 
tary to  herself  and  more  promising  to  her  purposes. 

They  never  acted  this  way,  she  thought,  and  she  won- 
dered why  he  was  so  different. 

Her  eyes  ranged  from  her  neat  and  very  costly  shoes 
to  the  very  expensive  silken  stockings  and  the  trim  cling- 
ing skirt  that  sheathed  the  studied  grace  of  her  figure. 
It  M-as  a  pleasing  picture  and  she  knew  it.  Was  not  the 
admiring  up-and-down  of  many  eyes  a  constant  proof  of 
it?  And  yet  here  he  was,  talking  of  crops  and  other 
stupid  things. 

His  next  remark  rather  startled  her. 

"But  you're  not  interested  in  these  things,"  he  said, 


32  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

with  a  quizzical  smile.  "Shall  we  talk  of  clothes,  and 
theaters,  and  dancing,  and  scandal?  Isn't  that  what  girls 
are  interested  in?" 

She  flushed.  To  insult  her  by  withholding  her  due  of 
admiration  and  then  further  insult  her  by  proposing  a 
descent  to  the  trivialities  of  her  intellectual  level — this 
was  too  much!  Her  lips  tightened  imperceptibly,  and 
could  he  have  read  the  thoughts  behind  those  smiling  eyes 
he  would  have  headed  the  taxi  back  to  the  security  of  the 
crowded  city. 

Instead  of  which,  at  seven  o'clock,  they  disembarked 
before  a  restaurant  in  a  quiet  place  out  where  the  streets 
had  merged  into  country  roads. 


From  somewliere  far  away  came  the  sound  of  a  voice. 

Tom's  eyes  slowly  opened,  fluttered  a  wavering  sec- 
ond, and  as  the  heavy  lids  drooped  together  again  there 
stole  into  his  dazed  senses  the  consciousness  of  pain  some- 
where in  the  world.  He  didn't  know  whose  pain  it  was  or 
where  it  was,  but  it  was  there,  and  it  was  becoming  more 
and  more  localized  within  himself. 

' '  Here,  son,  you  '11  have  to  be  moving.  This  ain  't  a  rest 
cure. ' ' 

A  large  hand  was  gripping  his  shoulder  and  his  body 
was  being  shaken  vigorously  to  and  fro.  He  looked  up 
and  saw  a  face  vaguely  familiar,  a  face  in  which  anxiety 
was  registered  more  than  anger. 

33 


34  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"You  feel  all  right  now,  don't  you?  You  don't  feel 
sick,  do  you?    You  certainly  had  me  scared,  son." 

Slowly  memory  returned.  Tom  remembered  the  man. 
He  was  the  waiter  who  had  brought  the  dinner,  but  how 
remote  that  dinner  now  seemed  when  he  and  "Sister"  had 
been  shown  into  the  little  private  dining-room  where  the 
dinner  had  been  served.  But  where  was  "Sister"? 
There  was  no  sign  of  her. 

"The  yoimg  lady?"  Tom  asked.    "Where  is  she?" 

The  waiter  smiled. 

"She  left  a  couple  of  hours  ago — said  she  was  going 
to  telephone,  and  didn't  come  back." 

Tom  tried  to  rally  his  confused  thoughts.  His  head 
was  throbbing  with  a  blighting  ache,  and  a  sickening 
weakness  half  paralyzed  his  body.  He  strove  to  recall 
what  had  happened. 

"  I  '11  get  you  a  taxi, ' '  said  the  waiter,  hurrying  away. 

What  had  become  of  "Sister"?  Why  had  she  left 
him?  What  time  was  it  now?  He  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  the  hour  was  two.  Off  in  the  other  part  of  the  house 
there  were  voices  raised  in  a  maudlin  song,  but  the  bar- 
baric drumming  and  wail  of  the  jazz  band  was  no  longer 
heard. 

By  slow  degrees  Tom  reconstructed  the  events  of  the 
night  so  far  as  he  could  remember  them.    He  and  "Sis- 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  35 

ter"  had  arrived  and  had  entered  the  private  dining- 
room.  She  had  seemed  so  thrilled  by  the  novelty  of  the 
"adventure,"  as  she  called  it. 

"What  would  my  friends  say  if  they  could  see  me 
now!"  she  had  exclaimed. 

Then  the  dirmer  was  served,  and  with  it  something  to 
drink.  He  recalled  a  suffocating  sense  of  confusion,  a 
dizziness  that  suddenly  enveloped  his  senses  like  an  anes- 
thetic, and  then  complete  blankness.  He  wondered  what 
he  had  done  that  "Sister"  should  have  left  him.  Had 
he  offended  her  ?  Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  remem- 
ber. He  hoped  he  had  not  behaved  badly,  because  she 
seemed  to  be  such  a  nice  girl. 

The  waiter  returned  and  helped  him  bathe  his  aching 
head  with  refreshing  cold  water,  and  then  piloted  him  out 
to  a  car  that  was  M^aiting  at  the  door. 

Tom  muttered  the  name  of  his  hotel,  and  as  the  car 
rattled  off  through  the  night  the  waiter  gave  a  sigh  of 
deep  relief. 

"Saj',  that  boy  had  a  close  call.  The  shot  was  too 
strong  for  him.  I  thought  he  was  all  in,  and  I  guess  she 
did,  too." 

The  long  ride  through  the  quiet  darkness  of  the  coun- 
try roads  and  the  scattered  houses  in  the  suburbs,  and 
then  the  endless  ride  through  the  sleeping  city  gave  Tom 


36  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

time  for  the  deep  humiliation  of  the  situation  to  sink  into 
his  consciousness. 

He  was  overwhehned  with  shame.  His  first  night  in 
the  city!  His  first  step  in  the  campaign  to  win  a  place 
for  himself!  What  a  tragic  beginning!  What  would 
Emily  say  if  she  could  see  him  now,  dazed,  befuddled, 
aching  with  pain  and  remorse? 

The  car  stopped,  and  he  slowly  lurched  out  on  the  side- 
walk at  his  hotel. 

"How  much?"  he  asked. 

"Six  eighty,"  answered  the  chauffeur. 

Tom  dug  into  his  pocket  for  his  purse,  and  a  cold  chill 
swept  over  him.  The  purse  was  gone !  A  feverish  search 
of  his  other  pockets  yielded  only  a  few  small  coins. 

The  chauffeur  quickly  stepped  out  on  the  sidewalk. 


When  Sadie  Johnson,  the  pretty  telephone  girl  for 
the  Alert  Taxi  Company,  reported  for  duty  at  eight  thirty 
A.  M.  she  found  a  strange  5'oung  man  sound  asleep  on  the 
office  bench.  As  he  was  a  nice-looking  young  man  she  al- 
lowed her  romantic  fancy  free  play  in  speculating  upon 
the  mystery.  All  through  the  forenoon  he  slept  on,  dead 
to  the  world,  and  if  the  telephone  service  during  that  time 
was  not  up — or  down — ^to  its  usual  efficiency  it  was  be- 
cause her  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  mystery  which  had 
come  to  brighten  up  an  otherwise  drab  morning. 

The  floor  boss  and  the  day  driver  were  unable  to 
answer  her  inquiries,  so  it  was  not  until  noon,  when  one 
of  the  night  men  showed  up,  that  Miss  Johnson  made 
headway  in  her  researches. 

37 


38  THE     RESTLESS     AGE 

"Who  is  our  guest "?"  she  asked.  "Who  is  the  hand- 
some stranger  who  is  parking  on  the  office  bench?"  She 
did  most  of  her  reading  on  the  screen. 

The  chauffeur  grinned  expansively  and  responded  in 
the  same  vein : 

"He  is  a  poor  but  worthy  young  man  who  had  not 
heard  that  the  country  has  gone  dry.  He  ran  up  a  taxi 
bill  of  six  dollars  and  eighty  cents,  and  as  the  critical  mo- 
ment approached  when  he  was  to  pay  he  discovered  that 
his  pocketbook  had  been  stolen — cruelly  stolen." 

"Old  stuff,"  was  Miss  Johnson's  comment,  "but  he 
looks  like  a  nice  boy." 

"Oh,  I  guess  he's  all  right,  only  his  story  didn't  sound 
convincing.  He  was  out  with  a  dame,  a  perfect  lady,  he 
said,  but  he  didn't  know  her  name  and  he  didn't  know 
^Yhere  they  had  dinner  and  he  took  only  one  drink.  Some 
drink  that  was !  It  must  have  had  one  hundred  per  cent, 
kick,  because  Buck  says  they  had  to  lift  him  into  the  car." 

"It's  a  shame  the  way  these  places  are  allowed  to  sell 
drinks,"  she  remarked.  "There  are  a  lot  of  people  yell- 
ing for  law  and  order  who  break  the  law  themselves  three 
or  four  times  a  day!  They  are  for  law  when  the  law 
pleases  them  and  for  order  whenever  they  can  get  some- 
body to  take  the  order.  Well,  what  hajjpened  when  he 
couldn't  pay?" 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  39 

*'"Well,  lie  and  Buck  had  an  argument,  and  then  a  cop 
comes  up  and  horns  in.  He  suggests  that  the  mysterious 
stranger  go  over  to  the  station  and  rej^ort  the  loss  of  his 
fortune ;  but  no,  that  would  mean  getting  into  the  papers 
and  the  folks  at  home  finding  out — utter  disgrace  and  all 
that,  you  know.  Regular  melodrama  stuff.  So  finally  he 
proposes  to  come  here  and  work  off  the  'mortgage.'  He 
wouldn't  telegraph  home  and  he  wouldn't  give  his  watch 
as  security — present  from  mother,  he  says — and  that's 
why  he's  here.  The  boss  told  him  to  get  some  sleep,  and 
if  he  ever  wakes  up  he  is  to  work  six  dollars  and  eighty 
cents'  worth  in  the  garage." 

The  mystery,  while  shedding  its  baffling  features,  still 
contained  elements  of  interest  for  Miss  Johnson.  To  her 
romantic  fancy  the  youth  was  held  as  a  hostage. 

She  gently  placed  a  blanket  over  the  sleeping  figure, 
for  the  morning  was  cool,  and  in  leisure  moments  when 
the  phone  was  silent  she  built  quite  a  structure  of  ro- 
mance about  the  young  man.  He  was  willing  to  work! 
That  in  itself  was  noteworthy.  Most  others  would  have 
soaked  the  watch  or  ducked  at  the  first  opportunity. 

In  the  meantime  all  hands  in  the  garage  had  the  story. 
Their  comments  were  humorous  at  first,  then  assumed  a 
more  serious  aspect, 

"Say,  this  guy  don't  belong  to  the  union,"  said  one 


40  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

driver,  "and  this  is  a  union  shop.  He'll  have  to  join  or 
else  nothing  doing  for  him." 

The  foreman  was  consulted,  and  his  serious  face  re- 
flected the  fact  that  Tom  Wickliam  had  become  an  eco- 
nomic problem  in  the  shop. 

When  Tom  awakened  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  the 
pleasant  face  of  Miss  Sadie  Johnson,  regarding  him  with 
unmistakable  interest. 


—  Ai^i^TL^f^f^  — 


Emily  Harbridge  recognized  the  familiar  hand-WT-it- 
ing  and  with  eager  happiness  ran  up  to  her  room,  closed 
the  door,  and  tremblingly  tore  open  the  envelope. 

Dear  Emily  :  What  a  long  time  it  seems  since  we  said 
good  night  and  you  told  me  to  be  sure  to  write  and  tell  3'ou 
everything  that  happened,  no  matter  how  little  or  unim- 
portant.   Well,  here  goes! 

To  begin  with,  I  got  on  the  train  the  morning  after 
I  left  you,  feeling  at  least  one  hundred  per  cent.  blue.  I 
haven't  felt  so  miserable  since  I  was  in  France  and  didn't 
get  a  letter  for  two  whole  months. 

I  felt  mean  about  leaving  the  farm  just  when  father 
needed  me  the  most,  but  I  had  to  get  it  out  of  my  system, 
and  the  nice  way  father  and  mother  took  it  was  a  million 
times  harder  than  if  they  had  made  a  scene.  Well,  an^^- 
way,  I  was  indigo  from  the  ground  up. 

Fortunately  Bud  Andrews  was  on  the  same  train,  and 
we  gassed  all  the  way. 

41 


42  THE     RESTLESS     AGE 

When  we  struck  the  city  we  sepai'atecT,  planning  to  get 
together  for  dinner  before  Bud  took  the  night  train  home. 
Well,  I  never  showed  up  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  It's 
too  long  to  tell  you  now,  but  you  must  remind  me  to  tell  it 
to  you  sometime.  When  you  see  Bud,  please  ask  him  if  he 
remembers  a  young  ladj^  in  Brest  or  some  place  over  there 
that  we  used  to  call ' '  Sister. ' '  I  didn  't  remember  her  my- 
self, but  he  may.    Kind  of  pretty  and  very  friendly. 

It  was  partly  on  her  account  that  I  got  the  job  I  am 
now  holding  down  more  or  less  against  my  will.  It  was 
like  Aladdin,  who  used  to  rub  a  magic  lamp  and  his  wish 
came  true.  Well,  I  wished  for  a  job,  and  when  I  woke  up 
and  rubbed  my  lamps  there  I  was  with  a  job  wished  on 
me. 

I'm  working  in  a  garage,  ministering  to  the  ailments 
of  sick  automobiles.  For  a  while  the  rest  of  the  force 
threatened  to  make  trouble  because  I  didn't  belong  to  the 
union,  but  for  some  mysterious  reason  they  suddenly 
decided  to  let  me  stay  until  I  could  get  another  job  or  else 
join  their  union.  If  I  was  sure  I  wanted  to  stick  to  this 
work  I'd  join,  but  I'm  not  sure  at  the  present  writing. 

At  any  rate,  here  I  am,  camping  on  the  trail  of  For- 
tune—a long,  long  trail,  believe  me!  I  know  the  inside 
of  a  car  from  A  to  Z,  so  the  work  comes  fairly  easy.  The 
fellows  working  Avith  me  are  a  pretty  nice  lot,  but  Sadie 
Johnson  says  they  can  get  awfully  fresh  sometimes  and 
have  to  be  put  where  they  belong.  Sadie  is  the  telephone 
operator  at  the  garage,  and  all  the  men  think  the  world  of 
her.  She's  a  breath  of  sunshine  in  this  sordid  city,  and, 
in  her  cheerful  way,  she  has  a  lot  of  influence  OA^-er  the 
men  in  the  garage.  I  have  a  room  at  her  mother's  house, 
and  I  guess  they've  had  a  pretty  hard  row  to  hoe.  The 
father  was  no  good,  and  when  he  died  he  left  nothing  but 
debts.    The  ouly  brother  is  away  some  place.    The}'  never 


THE     EESTLESS    AGE  43 

speak  of  liim.  How  she  lias  managed  to  keep  her  cheer- 
fulness is  a  mj'steiy,  but  she  sure  has;  and  that's  going 
some  for  any  one  who  has  to  telephone  all  the  time. 

I  eat  in  restaurants,  and,  do  you  know,  I  haven't  con- 
nected with  one  honest-to-gosh  meal  since  I've  been  here. 
The  prices  are  something  sickening.  Asparagus,  the  kind 
we  sell  for  ten  cents  a  bunch — sixty  cents  or  a  dollar  an 
order  here.  It  makes  me  mad  to  think  what  a  small  por- 
tion of  the  profit  reaches  the  pockets  of  the  men  who  work 
their  heads  off  raising  food. 

Do  you  remember  when  we  read  the  Jungle  Book 
years  ago?  Well,  these  city  people  remind  me  of  the 
Bandarlog,  always  rushing  around  like  chickens  with 
their  heads  off,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  never  finishing 
anything  they  start.  They  work,  live,  and  eat  to  jazz,  and 
the  city  habit  is  like  the  drug  habit.  You  know  it  isn't 
normal,  but  it  gets  into  .your  blood.  We  saw  a  movie  the 
other  night  that  took  it  off  to  a  T, 

To-night  is  beautiful.  I  'm  sitting  in  my  room,  looking 
out  at  the  same  moon  that  is  shining  down  on  the  trees  rvc\ 
beautiful  fields  around  you,  but  here  it  shines  down  on  a 
waste  of  chimneys  and  littered  streets.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  much  I'd  like  to  be  down  there,  cranking  up  the  old 
fliv\-er  to  take  you  for  a  grand  old  trip  to  the  Grange- 
field  Movie  Palace,  but  there  is  no  magic  carpet  to  carry 
me  there.  Please  write  very  soon.  I '11  mail  this  as  we  go 
out  to  the  movies  to-night,  so  you'll  get  it  to-morrow  eve- 
ning.   Yours,  Tom. 

Emily  read  the  letter  over  again,  then  turned  out  the 

light  and  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  out  upon  the  quiet 

fields.    For  some  reason  a  vague  unhappiness  stole  over 

her. 


When  Emily  Harbridge  had  read  Tom's  letter  for  the 
third  time  she  turned  off  the  light  and  for  a  long  time  sat 
looking  out  on  the  moonlight.  She  was  unhappy.  Not  a 
word  of  real  affection  in  the  letter — only  the  old  friendly 
phrases,  now  so  pitifully  unsatisfying. 

Did  it  mean  that  he  cared  for  her  only  as  a  dear 
friend  ?  Or  did  it  mean  that  some  time  when  he  got  good 
and  ready  he  would  come  and  say  the  words  she  wanted 
so  much  to  hear?  This  reflection  stirred  her  to 
resentment. 

In  this  mood  she  wrote  her  answer.  The  big  clock 
down-stairs  struck  one  before  she  finished,  and  when  she 
read  the  letter  over  she  burst  into  tears,  and  tore  it  into 
little  bits. 

45 


46  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

Next  morning  she  drove  into  Grangefield. 

Here  were  the  comfortable  homes  of  retired  farmers, 
whose  land  was  being  worked — and  often  worked  to  death 
• — by  tenants  intent  only  upon  draining  the  land  of  its 
utmost  without  thought  of  conserving  its  lasting  richness. 

In  the  main  street  were  the  usual  numbers  of  farmers' 
autos,  parked  along  the  curbs.  In  other  days  the  hitching 
racks  around  the  public  square  were  thronged  only  on 
Saturdays. 

Emily  thought  of  these  things  as  she  drove  along,  but 
always  in  the  background  of  her  mind  hung  the  dull 
heaviness  of  a  cloud  which  even  the  bright  sunlight  could 
not  dispel.  The  name  of  Sadie  Johnson  kept  intruding 
upon  her  consciousness.  She  was  annoyed  chiefly  by  the 
fact  that  she  cared  enough  to  feel  hurt. 

Her  mood  was  ripe  for  reprisals.  The  patient  Emily 
was  becoming  a  rebellious  Emily. 

It  was  not  by  accident  that  she  parked  her  car  next  to 
Bud  Andrews'  car  or  turned,  with  apparent  surprise  and 
marked  cordiality,  to  greet  that  young  man  as  he  hurried 
out  of  a  store  toward  her. 

"Hello,  Emily.  I  was  just  thinking  of  you.  What 
brings  you  to  town?" 

"Oh,  a  lot  of  things."    She  was  smiling  gaily,  and 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  47 

Bud's  active   mind  was   already  busy  with  searching 
deductions. 

She  liad  never  been  so  cordial  to  him  before.  What 
was  up  ?  He  wanted  to  ask  if  she  had  heard  from  Tom, 
but  caution  prompted  him  to  approach  the  subject  less 
directly. 

"Is  there  anything  in  this  great  city  that  I  can  do  for 
j'ou  ?"  He  swept  his  arms  in  a  wide  gesture  that  included 
the  Grangefield  Moving  Picture  Palace,  Berry's  ice- 
cream parlor,  the  Carnegie  library,  and  the  length  of  the 
somnolent  main  street.  "Theaters,  restaurants,  litera- 
ture, anything  you  want.    I  await  your  pleasure." 

He  waited  in  an  attitude  of  such  deference  that  two 
elderly  ladies  passing  regarded  him  with  surprise,  and 
proceeded  with  a  new  interest  in  their  lives. 

"All,  ha!  I  have  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "I've  saved  up 
some  money,  and  I  propose  we  go  and  purchase  a  pair  of 
the  nicest  ice-cream  sodas  that  money  can  buy." 

"This  is  so  sudden,"  she  smiled ;  "but  I  most  certainly 
accept." 

The  phrasing  of  this  remark,  pleasantly  suggestive 
of  romantic  possibilities,  stimulated  Bud  to  hojieful 
expectations. 

As  they  sat  at  one  of  the  little  tables  in  Berry's  the 
conversation  ranged  along  airy  topics  as  it  slowly  but 


48  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

surely  approached  the  matter  uppermost  in  both  their 
minds. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Bud  casually,  "any  news  from  our 
wandering  friend*?" 

"Who?"  asked  Emily.  "Oh,  you  mean  Tom  Wick- 
ham  ?  Yes,  I  had  a  letter  not  long  ago.  Some  evening,  if 
you  happen  to  be  over  our  way,  remind  me,  and  I  '11  read 
it  to  you."  She  resumed  eating  the  ice-cream  as  though 
unaware  of  the  significance  of  her  remark. 

"I'm  happening  to  come  over  that  way  to-night,"  he 
said  quickly,  while  through  his  thoughts  shot  the  joyful 
reflection  that  Tom's  letters  contained  nothing  that  could 
not  be  read  to  others. 


'jHi^/c/ff^ct/  — 


Emily  Haebridge  was  one  of  a  type  which  is  happily 
becoming  more  common  in  farming  communities.  Mag- 
azines, motor-carSj  telephones,  phonographs,  movies,  and 
mail-order  houses  had  kept  her  abreast  of  the  times. 
And  churches,  lectures,  dances,  and  other  entertainments 
were  within  easy  motoring  distance.  Her  chief  differ- 
ence from  her  city  sister  was  the  fortunate  absence  of 
that  fungus  growth  of  sophistication  which  modern  city 
life  inflicts  upon  girls  of  her  age. 

By  nature  she  was  kindly  and  sincere.  Duplicity  was 
foreign  to  her  nature,  and  the  consciousness  that  she  was 
now  embarking  upon  such  a  game  made  her  feel  uncom- 
fortable and  somewhat  ashamed. 

She  cared  very  deeply  for  a  man  who  was  either  un- 
willing or  unready  to  propose  to  her.    That  he  cared  for 

49 


50  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

her  she  had  no  doubt,  but  whether  he  cared  enough  to 
want  to  marry  her  was  another  matter.  She  hoped  he 
did,  but  the  prospect  of  waiting  and  wondering  seemed  so 
essentially  unfair  that  she  was  stirred  by  resentment  and 
a  spirit  of  retaliation.  She  resolved  to  play  one  man 
against  the  other,  although  she  never  would  have  ex- 
pressed it  so  baldly. 

Nearly  all  the  ladies  from  Eve  down  to  the  present 
have  had  occasion  to  do  the  same,  and  it  has  become  a 
time-honored  weapon  with  her  sex.  Some  employ  it  in- 
stinctively, others  by  design.  It  is  said  to  be  effective  in 
promoting  pep  in  lagging  lovers.  When  husbands  reach 
the  comfortable  stage  of  taking  their  wives'  love  for 
granted,  the  device  is  employed  with  effect.  When  young 
men  dally  along  without  declaring  their  intentions  it 
often  serves  to  awaken  them  to  the  need  for  positive 
action. 

Such  was  the  situation  with  Emily.  Tom  Wickham 
was  in  the  city  working  off  the  restlessness  born  of  the 
war.  Probably  some  time  he  would  come  back  to  her, 
jDrovided  he  did  not  in  the  meantime  meet  some  one  else 
he  liked  better. 

Bud  Andrews  was  on  the  spot,  and  as  a  substitute  Bud 
was  not  a  negligible  quantity.  He  was  keen  and  amusing. 
He  was  sticking  to  the  farm  at  a  difficult  time,  havino- 


THE     EESTLESS    AGE  51 

character  enough  to  resist  the  lure  of  temporary  high 
wages  in  the  cities  and  insiglit  enough  to  see  that,  in  the 
long  run,  the  man  with  land  that  produces  the  essentials 
of  all  life  is  bound  to  be  best  situated  in  times  of  depres- 
sion or  strife.  Though  profits  might  shrink,  there  would 
never  be  for  him  the  need  of  soup  kitchens  and  bread 
lines.    He  preferred  being  a  creator  instead  of  a  parasite. 

Bud  was  still  single,  but  Emily's  cordial  invitation  to 
call  gave  him  a  sudden  hope  that  a  kindly  Fate  was  shap- 
ing a  means  of  remedying  that  misfortune. 

Arriving  soon  after  supper,  he  found  Emily  smiling 
and  prettier  than  ever.  They  sat  on  the  porch,  screened 
by  morning-glories,  and,  for  a  time,  talked  of  things  in 
general.  About  them  were  all  the  signs  of  peaceful  pros- 
perity and  wholesomeness,  fragrant  flowering  shrubs, 
stately  oak  trees,  a  mild  breath  of  spring  lazily  flapping 
the  curtains  behind  them,  and  a  rich  yellow  moon.  It  was 
a  setting  for  romance  and  Emily's  heart  yearned  for  Tom. 

Bud  leaned  toward  her. 

"You  said  something  about  showing  me  Tom's  letter." 

"Oh,  yes;  I'd  forgotten.  There's  nothing  much  of 
interest  in  it,  but  I'll  get  it  if  you  really  care  to  see  it." 

Bud  was  satisfied.  He  only  wanted  the  assurance 
that  it  was  the  kind  of  letter  that  could  be  shown. 

"Never  mind.    I'd  rather  just  talk  to  you.    I  s'pose 


52  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

he's  having  the  time  of  his  life  up  there— excitement  and 
gaiety,  and  leaving  us  down  here  to  enjoy  the  rural  scen- 
ery." He  saw  the  little  flush  of  resentment  in  Emily's 
face  and,  misinterpreting  it,  committed  the  tactical  blun- 
der of  continuing : 

"I  don't  suppose  he  said  anything  about  the  girl  he 
met  at  the  hotel  when  he  first  arrived?" 

Emily  was  silent  for  a  minute.  To  her  it  seemed  an 
underhanded  attack  upon  a  friend.  "With  an  effort  she 
controlled  her  anger  and  answered  quietly : 

"Oh,  yes;  he  told  me  to  ask  j^ou  if  j^ou  remembered  a 
girl  called  'Sister'  over  in  France.    He  didn't." 


Miss  Sadie  Joh^tson,  at  her  switcliboard  in  the  Alert 
Garage,  was  enjoying  the  luxury  of  a  dull  morning.  Few 
calls  were  coming  in  and  her  mind  was  free  to  ramble  off 
in  interesting  day-dreams.  At  the  moment  she  was  re- 
flecting upon  the  scarcity  of  heroes  in  real  life,  whereas 
the  movies  were  full  of  them.  Douglas  Fairbanks,  ap- 
pearing on  the  street,  would  attract  a  bigger  crowd  than' 
General  Pershing,  and  only  the  evening  before  she  and 
Mr.  Wickham  had  seen  Tom  Mix  perform  numberless 
heroics  which  made  the  young  men  of  real  life  seem  color- 
less in  comparison. 

The  switchboard  signaled  a  call.  Crisp,  cutting 
words  came  crackling  into  her  ear : 

"This  is  Miss  Morland.  "Will  you  please  ask  if  the  re- 
pairs on  my  car  will  ever  be  done  ?    It  was  to  have  been 

53 


54  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

at  my  door  at  ten  sharp.    It  is  now  half  past.    Your  serv- 
ice is  becoming  more  wretched  every  day." 

Miss  Johnson  answered  with  unruffled  politeness. 
Her  voice  was  electric  sunshine.  "Just  a  moment, 
please. ' ' 

After  connecting  with  the  repair  department  she 
reported : 

"Your  car  will  be  right  over,  Miss  Morland.  We're 
very  sorry  it  has  been  delayed. ' '  Miss  Morland  rang  off 
with  a  bang. 

"Nice  girl!"  reflected  Sadie.  "Of  all  people  she 
should  be  the  happiest.  She  has  everything  in  the  world 
— oodles  of  money,  big  social  position,  and  advertised  as 
a  great  beauty.  But  oh,  what  a  disposition!  And  how 
the  boys  here  hate  her!  They  won't  deliver  her  ear  if 
they  can  help  it. ' ' 

A  moment  later  the  beautiful  roadster  with  its  dis- 
tinctive coloring  and  monograms  halted  in  the  runway 
below  her.    The  foreman  spoke  earnestly  to  the  driver. 

"Now,  for  the  love  of  Pete,  don't  get  into  a  row  with 
her.  Their  business  is  worth  too  much.  Tell  her  we've 
hurried  as  fast  as  possible." 

"I'll  try  not  to  get  into  a  fight  with  her,"  answered 
the  driver  pleasantly.  ]\Iiss  Johnson  was  visibly  inter- 
ested upon  recognizing  Tom  Wiekham's  voice. 


THE     BESTLESS    AGE  55 

"So  they've  wished  the  job  ou  hhn,"  she  thought,  and 
then  called  out  through  the  window : 

"Give  nay  love  to  Lucille." 

"Lucille  who?"  asked  Tom. 

"Lucille  Moiiand — that's  the  dear  girl's  name." 

The  car  shot  out,  leaving  Sadie  busy  with  a  new  line  of 
reflections. 

As  Tom  drew  up  before  an  imposing  mansion  on  the 
boulevard  the  door  opened  and  a  smartly  dressed  girl 
hurried  out.    She  was  undeniably  pretty. 

"Has  the  car  been  repaired?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"Yes." 

"Yes — what?"  she  snapped. 

"Yes,  it  has." 

For  the  first  time  she  looked  directly  at  him,  an  angry 
flush  on  her  face.  Then,  biting  her  lip,  she  muttered 
something  that  sounded  like  "Insolent!" 

"Are  you  sure  it's  running  properly?  I'm  driving 
out-of-town  and  I  don 't  want  it  to  break  dowm  the  way  it 
did  the  last  time  you  fixed  it.  One  can  not  believe  any- 
thing these  garage  persons  say." 

"Yes,  I  strongly  suspect  we  are  a  bad  lot,"  was  Tom's 
comment. 

Again  she  looked  at  him,  this  time  sharply,  as  though 
something  in  his  words  had  arrested  her  attention.    His 


56  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

face  was  serious,  but  she  had  a  feeling  he  was  laughing  at 
her.  She  was  conscious  of  a  lack  of  that  deference  to 
which  she  was  accustomed  from  this  type  of  person,  but 
as  the  man  seemed  respectful  she  repressed  the  cutting 
words  that  struggled  for  utterance. 

Instead,  she  looked  at  her  wrist  watch  and  said:  "I 
wish  you  would  drive  me  around  the  block.  I  want  to  be 
sure  it  is  all  right," 

As  they  started,  a  car  driven  by  a  young  boy,  who  was 
obviously  showing  off  before  the  girl  at  his  side,  shot 
around  the  corner  at  high  speed,  and  only  Tom's  coolness 
avoided  a  serious  accident. 

Miss  Morland  started  violently.  White-faced,  she 
glanced  at  Tom,  but  he  was  perfectly  calm.  She  regarded 
him  with  new  interest. 

"You  drive  well.  You  would  have  made  a  good 
flyer,  "she  said. 

"I  like  flying  much  better,"  he  answered,  swinging 
the  car  in  toward  the  sidewalk  before  her  house. 

"Oh,  you've  flown?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes." 

"Yes— what?" 

"Yes,  I've  flown,"  he  answered  gravely. 

He  opened  the  door,  but  Miss  Morland,  acting  upon 
a  sudden  impulse,  said  she  would  drop  him  at  the  garage. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  57 

When  they  arrived  she  suddenly  asked:  "What  is 
your  name  1 ' ' 

"  Wickham— Tom  Wickham." 

"Well,  Thomas,  when  I  want  a  good  chauffeur  I'll 
send  for  you." 

"Thanks,  Lucille;  I'll  be  delighted." 

And  Tom  left  her  boiling  with  outraged  dignity.  It 
was  not  until  an  hour  later  that  she  thought  of  the  crush- 
ing things  she  would  like  to  have  said.  Her  impulse  was 
to  burn  up  the  wires  to  the  manager  of  the  garage,  but 
later  she  decided  there  was  a  better  revenge  in  her  power. 


— X«S*ii«»»— • 


The  more  or  less  kindly  Fates  which  shape  the  des- 
tinies of  humankind  are  apt  to  be  capricious.  Upon  their 
favorites  they  shower  their  gifts  in  prodigal  profusion 
and  then  withhold  the  one  thing  above  all  others  that  the 
heart  desires. 

This  was  the  case  with  Miss  Lucille  Morland.  She  had 
everything  in  the  world  except  the  one  thing  she  most 
wanted.  She  wanted  to  fall  in  love,  whole-heartedly  and 
tmrcservedly,  to  be  swept  off  her  feet  by  the  kind  of 
overpowering  passion  one  reads  about  in  books. 

Yet,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  she  reflected  miser- 
ably, not  one  of  her  numerous  and  obsequious  suitors  had 
stirred  her  emotions  in  the  least.  It  was  maddening.  She 
had  tried  to  imagine  she  was  in  love  once  or  twice,  but  in 
the  broad  daylight  she  knew  in  her  heart  it  was 
counterfeit. 

59 


60  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

She  wondered  if  the  fault  lay  within  herself,  but  de- 
cided that  the  modern  breed  of  men  had  become  hope- 
lessly standardized  into  the  commonplace. 

As  season  after  season  passed  and  her  hoped-for  fate 
did  not  appear,  she  saw  the  future  stretching  out,  a  desert 
of  boredom,  and  the  acid  entered  her  soul. 

Then  the  war  came  as  a  welcome  relief.  She  plunged 
headlong  into  war  work  and  discovered,  for  the  first 
time,  that  to  be  happy  a  person  must  have  an  occupation 
or  a  purpose  in  life.  Idleness  is  an  unfailing  breeder  of 
discontent. 

The  armistice  came  as  a  bitter  blow.  The  prospect  of 
returning  to  her  former  life  of  idleness  and  boredom 
filled  her  with  dismay  and  then  resentment — a  resent- 
ment which  for  some  reason  was  chiefly  directed  against 
the  men.  If  the  men  could  not  make  life  interesting  for 
her  she  would  do  her  best  to  make  life  interesting  for 
them,  and  she  vowed  it  with  clenched  hands  and  set  teeth. 

One  after  another  of  her  suitors  was  beguiled  to  the 
brink  and  then  dropped  with  a  crash.  It  was  great  fun, 
heartless,  perhaps — but  most  diverting. 

In  the  vernacular  of  j^outh  she  had  become  a  "cold 
proposition, ' '  and  the  men  of  her  home  set  were  steering 
clear  of  her.  She  had  to  go  away,  where  she  was  not 
known,  for  fresh  material. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  61 

She  envied  her  maids  as  she  heard  them  go  laughing 
away  with  their  sweethearts  for  an  evening  at  a  dance  or 
the  movies.  It  seemed  like  a  wretched  trick  of  Fate. 
Everybody  was  happy  but  herself,  and  yet  she  knew  that 
the  world  considered  her  one  of  the  particular  favorites 
of  fortune. 

Money  and  position  give  no  emotional  thrills  after  one 
gets  used  to  them. 

Her  father  gave  her  everything  money  could  buy,  but 
because  they  came  so  easily,  without  effort  or  sacrifice, 
they  lost  much  of  their  desirability.  She  found  herself 
wondering  what  her  father  got  out  of  life.  He  had  no 
resources  for  diversion.  He  was  locked  in  the  toils  of  his 
business,  which  was  huge  and  successful.  He  would  have 
been  amazed  by  the  thought  that  he  aroused  pity. 

In  his  estimation  he  was  the  typical  American,  master- 
ful, with  great  driving  force,  accustomed  to  get  what  he 
went  after,  regardless  of  all  obstacles.  Opposition  only 
intensified  his  determination  to  overcome  it.  That  was 
his  pleasure  in  life. 

Money  was  not  what  he  wanted  except  as  he  consid- 
ered it  the  concrete  measure  of  success.  He  had  more 
than  he  wanted  and  more  than  he  needed.  It  rolled  in 
like  the  waves  of  a  flood  tide. 

But  the  excitement  of  the  game,  the  fascination  of 


62  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

playing  for  big  stakes,  tlie  flattering  consciousness  of 
power  in  the  community,  kept  him  chained  to  the  tread- 
mill. To  retire  would  mean  the  surrender  of  all  the  zest 
of  life.    Leisure  would  kill  him  within  five  years. 

He  was  not  actively  interested  in  politics  except  as  it 
affected  his  business.  A  few  years  ago  he  was  crying 
"Let  well  enough  alone"  when  Colonel  Roosevelt  and 
other  radicals  were  threatening  the  peace  of  mind  of  the 
financial  world.  Now  he  was  desirous  of  seeing  some 
"safe  and  sane"  man  elected,  some  good  man  "like  Elihu 
Root." 

These  are  the  two  Morlands,  father  and  daughter,  who 
are  to  play  a  part  in  the  imfolding  adventures  of  Tom 
Wicldiam,  late  of  a  farm  near  Grangef  ield,  now  employed 
in  the  mechanical  department  of  the  Alert  Garage. 

At  three  o  'clock  one  afternoon,  late  in  May,  Miss  Mor- 
land  called  up  the  garage  and  asked  to  have  a  chauffeur 
sent  over  at  five  o'clock. 

"I  wish  you  would  send  the  yoimg  man  who  delivered 
my  car  two  days  ago." 

Miss  Sadie  Johnson  took  the  message. 

"Very  well,  Miss  Morland ;  I  will  tell  him.  It  was  Mr. 
Wickham." 

A  queer  light  was  in  Sadie's  eye.  She  had  an  engage- 
ment to  go  to  the  movies  that  evening  with  Mr.  Wickham. 


Looking  from  her  window  at  five  o'clock,  Miss  Mor- 
land  saw  Tom  Wickliam  arrive  and  take  his  place  in  her 
car. 

She  saw  him  look  at  his  watch  and  then  glance  at  the 
house. 

So,  instead  of  hurrying,  she  sat  down  to  enjoy  the 
pleasant  contemplation  of  his  impatience. 

If  she  had  been  asked  to  analyze  why  she,  Lucille 
Morland,  was  thus  employing  her  time  she  would  have 
sought  justification  in  the  claim  that  she  was  conducting 
a  "sociological  experiment."  In  reality  she  was  bored 
and  restless  and  there  was  diversion  to  be  found  with 
this  amazing  chauffeur  whose  language  and  manners  be- 
tokened other  things. 

Her  pleasant  contemplation  was  short-lived.  As  she 
watched,  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  took  from  his  pocket  a 

63 


64  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

small  volume,  which  he  settled  back  comfortably  to  read. 
So  she  changed  her  mind  and  hurried  down. 

**Why  are  you  not  in  chauffeur's  uniform?"  she 
demanded. 

"I  am  not  one  of  the  chauffeurs,"  he  answered.  "I 
am  in  the  repair  department,  but  for  some  reason  I  was 
assigned  to  drive  for  you  this  afternoon." 

"Yes;  I  asked  them  to  send  you." 

Tom  looked  surprised. 

"I  hardly  expected  that — after  the  other  day." 

"I  intended  to  report  you.  Do  you  usually  address 
strangers  by  their  first  names?" 

"Only  when  some  one  sets  the  example.  If  you  re- 
member correctly,  you  called  me  by  my  first  name." 

"That  is  different.  I  always  call  my  servants  and 
chauffeurs  by  their  first  or  last  names." 

"But  I  am  neither  your  servant  nor  your  chauffeur," 
He  smiled.  "However,  if  it  pleases  you  to  call  me  by  my 
first  name,  by  all  means  do  so.  It  is  quite  unimportant, 
although  it  seems  to  emphasize  class  distinctions." 

She  was  intensely  irritated  and  grew  more  so  when  he 
asked : 

"Shall  you  want  me  for  a  long  drive?" 

"In  what  way  does  that  concern  you?" 

"Because  I  have  an  engagement  at  eight  o'clock.    If 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  65 

you  are  planning  to  be  gone  longer  it  would  be  well  to  get 
one  of  the  regular  chauffeurs. ' ' 

She  thought,  "An  engagement  with  some  girl,"  but 
said,  aloud:  "Never  mind.  We'll  be  back.  Drive  to  the 
Elysian  Fields  Country  Club." 

*  *  You  '11  have  to  direct  me.    I  don 't  know  these  parts. ' ' 
For  some  time  they  drove  in  silence  through  city  bou- 
levards, then  passed  into  alternating  suburbs  and  open 
country.    At  the  crest  of  a  hill,  where  the  land  ahead  lay 
in  beautiful  green  billows,  she  directed  him  to  stop. 

From  a  flat  gold  case  she  drew  a  monogrammed  cigar- 
ette, lighted  it  daintily,  and  leaned  comfortably  back  in 
her  seat.  As  he  was  a  cigarette  smoker  she  susj)ected  the 
anguish  he  must  be  undergoing,  but  he  made  no  sign. 

"You  say  you  are  a  stranger  here.  Where  are  you 
from?" 

"I  have  lived  on  a  farm." 

"Why  did  you  leave?    Isn't  that  a  wholesome  life?" 
"I  thought  the  city  offered  greater  opportunities." 
"Opportunities  for  what — work  or  diversion?" 
"Work."    Then  he  added:  "I  suppose  diversion  had 
something  to  do  with  it." 

"The  trouble  nowadays,"  she  commented  sharply,  "is 
that  people  think  more  of  diversion  than  work." 

* '  Is  that  your  experience  ?  "  he  asked.    *  *  What  I  mean 


66  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

to  say,"  he  added  quickly,  "is  that  criticism  of  people 
who  work  comes  too  often  from  those  who  do  no  work 
themselves.  I  don't  mean  to  be  impertinent,  but  your 
comment  invited  it." 

She  bit  her  lip.  As  a  subject  for  "sociological  experi- 
ment" she  was  finding  this  young  person  decidedly  head- 
strong. He  was  typical  of  the  new  radical  thought  which 
was  upsetting  the  cherished  tradition  of  her  class, 

"What  is  getting  into  the  working  people?"  she  ex- 
claimed impatiently.  "During  the  war  they  worked 
splendidly.  Now  there  is  nothing  but  strikes  and  non- 
production.  They  make  promises  only  to  break  them. 
Doesn't  a  promise  mean  anything  any  more?" 

"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  wasn't  here  during  the 
war.  But  I  suppose  there  were  no  strikes  because  they 
agreed  not  to  while  the  war  was  on.  The  strikes  now  are 
deferred  strikes.  AJso  the  ten  per  cent,  plus  enabled  em- 
ployers to  give  any  wages  the  employees  asked.  The 
government  paid  the  bills. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  then  abruptly  changed 
the  subject. 

"You  speak  of  city  opportunities.  Have  you  found 
them?"  From  the  corner  of  her  eye  she  watched  him. 
Here  he  was  in  a  beautiful  car  on  a  lovely  country  road. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  67 

"I'm  sure  you  find  this  more  agreeable  than  slaving  on 
a  farm." 

' '  I  hate  it, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  Anything  would  be  better 
than  this." 

She  flushed  angrily.  Not  another  word  was  spoken 
imtil  the  car  drew  up  before  the  imposing  portals  of  the 
country  club. 

"I  shan't  be  long,"  said  Miss  Morland. 

It  was  six  o  'clock. 

Seven  o'clock  came,  and  at  eight  he  had  the  telephone 
clerk  send  word  to  INIiss  Sadie  Johnson  that  he  was  de- 
tained and  could  not  keep  his  engagement. 

At  eight  forty-five  Miss  Morland  came  out,  accom- 
panied by  a  tall  young  man. 

"You  may  take  the  car  back,"  she  said  curtly,  "I  am 
going  in  another  car." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered,  and  as  he  drove  away  her 
companion  turned  to  Miss  Morland  with  excitement  in 
his  voice. 

"Who  was  that?" 

"His  name  is  Wickham,  I  think." 

"What!"  shouted  the  tall  young  man. 


^'Si-A^'^**^ " 


As  THE  tail-light  disappeared  behind  the  trees  lining 
the  broad  white  driveway,  the  tall  young  man  found  his 
voice. 

''Chauffeur !"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  be  gosh,  be  gosh! 
Old  Tom  chauffing.  Wouldn't  that  jar  a  fixed  star!  I 
ask  you." 

He  was  staring  off  in  the  direction  the  car  had  taken. 

Lucille  Morland  regarded  him  with  impatient 
curiosity. 

"A  friend  of  yours  ?"  she  asked.  And  as  he  continued 
to  stare  without  answering,  her  eyes  narrowed  in  a  slight 
frown. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "are  we  to  stand  here  all  night ?" 

"Oh,  a  thousand  pardons!    Awfully  sorry.    Like  see- 

69 


70  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

ing  a  ghost,  you  know.  Great  mystery."  They  entered 
the  car  and  whirled  out  of  the  Elysian  Fields  Chib 
grounds  scarcely  two  minutes  after  Tom. 

As  they  sti'uck  the  open  road  and  the  car  leaped  for- 
ward at  a  terrific  speed,  Miss  Morland  turned  a  quick 
questioning  glance  toward  her  companion. 

Something  in  his  face  aroused  sudden  alarm. 

"Harry,"  she  exclaimed,  clutching  his  arm.  "Not  so 
fast!    Please  don't  drive  so  fast." 

"My  old  car's  always  kind  o'  restless  after  she's  been 
standing,"  he  remarked  amiably.  "She'll  slow  down 
pretty  soon.  Got  to  humor  her,  y'know,  Lucie.  Got  to 
humor  'er."  He  turned  a  smiling  face  toward  her,  and 
the  car  swerved  dizzily. 

"Oh,  Harry,  please  slow  down!  I'm  terrified!  You 
shouldn't  be  driving  in  your  condition.  Please,  Harry, 
please!"  A  red  tail-light  gleamed  ahead  of  them. 
"Please  be  careful !"  She  shut  her  eyes  as  they  shot  past 
with  a  scant  six  inches  leeway,  so  she  did  not  notice  that 
it  was  her  own  roadster.  But  for  a  few  roaring  moments 
its  head-lights  glared  over  them  and  Tom  recognized  Miss 
Morland 's  hat. 

"Wow!"  he  exclaimed.  "She's  likely  to  end  up  in  a 
ditch!" 

Two  minutes  later  his  lights  picked  up  something  in 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  71 

the  roadway  ahead.  Swerving  quickly,  he  brought  the 
car  to  a  stop  and  ran  back  to  where  a  huddled,  silent  fig- 
ure was  lying.  Off  to  one  side  were  the  remains  of  a 
crushed  bicycle. 

Tom  shouted  and  blew  his  horn  several  times,  till 
presently  a  light  appeared  in  the  windows  of  a  house 
back  among  the  trees.  Confused  voices  were  heard  and 
two  men  came  running  out. 

' '  A  man 's  been  hurt, ' '  shouted  Tom.  * '  He 's  still  alive. 
A\Tiere's  the  nearest  hospital?" 

They  stooped  down,  and  one  directed  a  harsh  question 
at  Tom. 

"How'd  you  happen  to  hit  him?" 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Tom,  "I  didn't  hit  him. 
It  was  the  car  ahead  of  me.    I  just  came  up." 

There  w^as  no  resj^onse  to  this,  and  the  men  silently 
lifted  the  body  into  Tom's  car. 

"We'll  go  with  you,"  one  said  in  a  hard  voice. 
"There's  too  much  wild  driving  on  this  road.  It's  got  to 
be  stopped." 

At  the  hospital  in  Rivington  a  hasty  examination  of 
the  injured  man  showed  a  flicker  of  life  still  remaining, 
but  the  doctor  shook  his  head  gravely. 

Shortly  two  officers  arrived  and  questioned  Tom.  It 
was  obvious  that  they  did  not  believe  his  story.     And 


72  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

during  the  examination  the  two  men  from  the  scene  of 
action  interposed  frequent  hostile  comments. 

"You  say  you  didn't  hit  him?"  asked  one  of  the 
officers. 

"I  found  him  in  the  road.  He  had  evidently  been  hit 
by  another  car  a  very  short  time  before." 

"Aw,  he's  lying,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men,  who  ap- 
parently had  reason  to  be  bitter  toward  speeders  in  gen- 
eral and  particularly  those  who  passed  his  house. 

Tom  turned  quickly.  "If  I  were  the  kind  that  would 
lie  about  it,  I'd  be  the  kind  that  would  have  run  away. 
You'll  have  to  admit  that  I  called  for  help." 

There  was  no  answer  to  this. 

"Any  friends  in  tovni?"  one  of  the  officers  asked. 

"No,  I'm  a  stranger,"  Tom  answered.  This  seemed 
to  decide  their  course  of  action. 

"Well,  son,  I  guess  we'll  have  to  hold  you."  But 
when  further  questioning  revealed  that  he  worked  for  the 
Alert  Garage,  and  was  driving  for  Miss  Lucille  Mor- 
land,  daughter  of  Henry  Morland,  they  conferred  again. 

Tom  overheard  the  name  "Morland"  repeated  fre- 
quently. One  officer  seemed  to  be  for  releasing  him,  the 
other  for  holding  him.    After  a  time  they  agreed. 

The  next  morning  Miss  Lucille  Morland  received  the 
shock  of  her  life. 


Haggard  from  a  sleepless  night,  Lucille  Morland  rang 
for  her  maid. 

"Has  any  one  telephoned?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"No,  Miss  Morland,"  answered  the  maid,  surprised. 
It  was  barely  eight!  A^^io  would  be  calling  at  this  hour? 
Most  mysterious,  she  thought. 

"If  Mr.  Ellgate  comes,  I'll  see  him.  No  one  else.  And 
please  bring  the  morning  papers. ' ' 

This  unusual  request  further  mystified  the  sharp- 
witted  maid.  She  knew  her  mistress  did  not  read  the 
papers  unless  there  was  something  of  personal  interest 

expected.     And  this  early  call  from  Mr.  Ellgate 1 

What  could  it  mean  1  And  at  this  unearthly  hour !  Was 
their  engagement  being  announced "?  And  yet,  Miss  Mor- 
land's  evident  nervousness ? 

73 


74  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

As  for  Miss  Morland,  the  cheerful  sunlight,  the  usual 
sounds  of  the  house  and  street,  all  had  a  reassuring  effect, 
and  almost  made  her  wonder  if  the  events  of  the  evening 
before  had  not  been  part  of  a  dreadful  dream.  It  was 
only  when  she  closed  her  eyes  and  shut  out  the  sunshine 
that  she  saw  again  the  stretch  of  skimming  roadway  and 
the  flying  figure  of  a  man  as  their  car  struck  his  bicycle. 
How  terrible!  Harry  Ellgate  had  slowed  down,  but  she 
iirged  him  on.  In  her  mind  had  flashed  the  awful  pub- 
licity of  the  thing.  The  papers  would  make  so  much  of  it 
if  her  name  was  involved. 

She  hoped  the  man  was  not  killed.  It  would  so  com- 
plicate a  settlement,  whereas  if  he  were  only  injured  a 
lawyer  could  adjust  the  damages  without  her  name  ap- 
pearing. She  knew  the  man  would  ask  a  big  sum  if  he 
knew  Henry  Morland 's  daughter  had  been  in  the  car,  and 
a  jury  of  course  would  decide  against  a  rich  man  in  a  case 
like  this.  Of  course  it  could  be  appealed  and  appealed 
until  the  man  would  be  glad  to  settle,  but  at  best  it  would 
be  awkward. 

All  these  considerations  shot  through  her  mind  in  the 
few  seconds  of  wavering  uncertainty  following  the  acci- 
dent. Stopping  meant  such  a  lot  of  distressing  formal- 
ities— and  it  was  so  easy  to  speed  up  and  be  swallowed  by 
the  darkness. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  75 

Again  these  thoughts  crowded  through  her  head  as  she 
lay  in  bed.  She  remembered  with  misgivings  the  attitude 
of  Harry  as  they  drove  into  town.  "It's  a  rotten  thing  to 
do — to  leave  that  poor  chap  lying  back  there."  She  knew 
it  was  only  her  insistence  that  had  restrained  him  from 
turning  back.  Would  his  conscience  force  him  to  con- 
fess I  Or  would  he  be  true  to  his  code  of  ethics — not  to 
involve  a  lady  in  disagreeable  publicit}'  ?  She  decided  he 
would  remain  silent. 

The  maid  entered  with  the  tray  and  the  newspapers, 
and  as  she  tarried  Miss  ]\lorland  dismissed  her  sharply. 

"If  I  want  you  I'll  ring."  It  was  only  when  the  door 
had  closed  behind  her  that  Miss  Morland  seized  the 
papers. 

She  did  not  have  to  search  long. 

There  it  was,  emblazoned  on  the  front  page,  and  in  her 
first  swift  glance  her  eyes  caught  the  name,  "Morland" 
and  her  senses  reeled.  How  had  they  known  1  What  did 
they  know  ? 

Bicyclist  Crushed  by  Speeding  Auto 
driver  of  miss  lucille  morland 's  car  held 

Jesse  Martin,  a  farmer  living  near  Rivington,  was 
struck  by  a  speeding  automobile  at  nine  o'clock  last  night 
on  the  Belleview  highroad.    He  is  now  in  the  Rivington 


76  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

hospital,  where  the  doctors  say  the  chances  of  recovery 
are  slight.    He  is  still  unconscious. 

Police  inquiry  has  developed  some  mystifying  cir- 
cumstances. 

Thomas  Wickham,  driving  the  car  of  Miss  Lucille 
Morland,  daughter  of  Henry  Morland,  is  being  held  by 
the  police,  although  he  claims  his  car  did  not  strike  the 
injured  man, 

"I  was  driving  into  town  alone  from  the  Elysian 
Fields  Country  Club  at  about  nine  and  saw  the  man's 
body  in  the  road  ahead  of  me.  I  stopped  and  called  for 
help  from  the  nearest  house.  Two  men  came  out  and 
helped  me  get  him  to  the  nearest  hospital.  He  must  have 
been  struck  by  some  car  that  passed  just  ahead  of  me." 

The  two  men  testified  that  Wickham 's  car  had  passed 
the  injured  man  and  was  some  yards  ahead.  They  make 
no  secret  of  their  belief  that  Wickham  ran  the  man  down. 

Wickham,  who  has  lately  come  to  the  city  from 
Grangef ield,  this  state,  is  employed  at  the  Alert  Garage, 
and  is  not  Miss  JMorland's  regular  chauffeur.  He  was 
engaged  for  this  special  trip.  He  stovitly  maintains  his 
innocence,  and  in  substantiation  of  his  claim  he  cites  the 
fact  that  he  stopped  instead  of  rmming  away,  and  also  the 
established  fact  that  his  car  shows  no  sign  of  having 
struck  anything.    He  had  not  been  drinking. 

Further  police  investigation  is  under  way.  A  sharp 
search  is  being  made  for  a  car  that  shows  such  evidence 
of  blood  or  bent  fenders. 

In  the  meantime  Wickham  is  being  held  and  sub- 
jected to  drastic  examination. 

Miss  Morland  finished  the  account  with  terrified  eyes. 
It  was  even  worse  than  her  fears.    How  awful!    How 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  77 

perfectly  dreadful !  Oh,  why  hadn  't  they  stopped  1  Why 
had  they  run  away?    Nothing  could  extenuate  that! 

The  telephone  rang.  She  started  hysterically.  Was 
it  the  newspapers  ?    Or  the  police  ? 

As  it  continued  to  ring,  insistent  and  determined,  she 
trembingly  took  off  the  receiver. 


Miss  Morland  was  intensely  relieved  to  hear  her 
father's  voice  on  the  phone. 

"What's  this  I  read  in  the  papers  this  morning?"  he 
asked  testily. 

For  an  instant  she  had  an  impulse  to  dissemble,  but 
quickly  realized  the  folly  of  pleading  ignorance.  It 
would  have  to  come  out  sooner  or  later.  And,  besides, 
her  father's  influence  might  be  urgently  needed. 

"Where  are  you?    Can  you  come  to  my  room?" 

"I'll  be  right  up." 

Two  minutes  later  he  was  seated  by  her  bed. 

' '  Well  ?    What  happened  ? ' ' 

"I  drove  out  to  the  club,"  she  began  in  a  tense  voice, 
"with  a  driver  from  the  garage.  I  sent  my  car  home  and 
came  back  with  Harry  Ellgate." 

79 


80  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

"Yes?"    There  was  a  painful  pause. 

In  a  voice  barely  audible  she  went  on : 

"It  was  Harry's  car  that  struck  the  man.  IsTo  one 
knows — except  ourselves.  The  chauffeur  must  have  been 
right  behind  us. " 

She  dreaded  the  next  question. 

"You  didn't  stop?" 

She  burst  into  hysterical  sobs, 

"Oh,  I  wish  we  had !  How  I  wish  we  had!  But  it  all 
hajDpened  so  quickly  and,  without  thinking,  we  went  on. 
It  was  a  terrible  thing  to  do.    Oh,  I  'm  so  wretched ! ' ' 

It  had  been  many  j^ears  since  Henry  Morland  had  seen 
his  daughter  in  tears,  and  in  a  gentler  voice  he  asked : 

"Was  Harry  drinking?" 

Another  long  pause. 

"A  little,  I— I  think." 

"He  was  drunk." 

She  didn't  answer. 

"Um — bad  business.  This  chauffeur — ^he's  being 
held?" 

"Yes.    All  I  know  is  what  is  in  the  papers." 

"Has  Harry  telephoned  you  this  morning?" 

"No.    I  expected  him  to,  but  he  hasn't  yet." 

"It's  a  damned  outrage  that  so  much  drinking  is 
going  on — outside,  I  mean.    You  can't  expect  people  to 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  81 

observe  other  laws  if  the  authorities  don't  enforce  this 
one."  He  glowered  thoughtfully.  "However,  that's 
beside  the  point.  We  must  get  this  young  man  out  and 
hush  the  whole  matter  up.  Fortunately  the  injured  man 
isn't  dead,  or  wasn't  last  night." 

"Do  you  think  I  will  be  drawn  into  it?"  Lucille  asked 
anxiously. 

"I  think  not,"  answered  her  father  confidently. 
Here  was  a  difficult  problem  to  meet  and  master.  His 
whole  climb  to  wealth  had  been  beset  with  difficult  prob- 
lems, ranging  from  labor  troubles  to  legal  restraints.  His 
experience  with  the  law  had  robbed  it  of  its  terrors.  And 
likewise  his  knowledge  of  public  officials  had  revealed 
their  points  of  -vailnerability.    He  arose, 

"Don't  worry,  Lucille.  I  think  we  can  straighten  out 
the  matter.  But  if  I  were  you  I'd  cut  out  this  Ellgate. 
He's  no  good." 

At  his  office  Mr.  Morland  held  a  conference  with  his 
lawyer,  of  whose  discretion  he  had  ample  proofs. 

* ' That 's  the  situation, ' '  he  concluded.  "See  what  you 
can  do." 

"I  may  have  to  use  your  name,  Henry." 

"Use  your  own  judgment.  I  have  complete  confi- 
dence in  it — and  your  discretion." 

Late  that  afternoon  Tom  Wickham  was  released  from 


82  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

custody  more  or  less  to  his  own  surprise.  The  police 
department  issued  a  statement  that  his  innocence  had 
been  proved  beyond  question,  and  that  certain  develop- 
ments as  yet  undivulged  woiild  lead  to  a  speedy  appre- 
hension of  the  guilty  one. 

In  discussing  the  matter  with  Mr.  Morland  that  eve- 
ning the  lawyer  said  with  satisfaction : 

"There'll  be  a  little  flurry  in  the  papers,  but  in  a  week 
the  public  will  forget  all  about  it.  There'll  be  nothing 
further  to  fear  unless  some  meddlesome  newspaper  im- 
dertakes  an  independent  investigation. ' ' 

"How  about  the  injured  man?" 

"The  doctors  now  say  that  he'll  recover." 

"Keep  an  eye  on  him.  We'll  do  something  for  him 
some  time.    And  the  chauffeur,  Wickham  ? ' ' 

"He's  been  released.  The  police  say  he's  a  decent 
fellow.  But  his  garage  won't  take  him  back.  Fussy 
about  publicity." 

"Perhaps  we  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  him 
later  on — indirectly,  of  course." 

Wliile  thus  the  Fates,  impersonated  for  the  moment 
by  Mr.  Morland,  were  shaping  the  destinies  of  one 
Thomas  Wickham,  an  elderly  man  with  distress  written 
on  his  face  was  inquiring  at  the  Alert  Garage  for  his  son. 


"He  was  released  this  afterBOOB,"  said  the  maBager 
UBeasily.  "But  he's  Bot  employed  here  aBy  more.  You 
might  fiBd  him  at  his  room."  The  uiaBager  was  feeliBg 
very  uBcomfortable.  He  had  discharged  Wiekham  be- 
cause of  the  publicity  resultiug  froui  the  latter 's  arrest, 
and  the  garage  force,  believiBg  him  iBBoceBt,  were  reseBt- 
ful  at  the  iBJustice. 

Moved  by  a  suddeu  sjnBpathy,  the  maBager  called 
out:  "Here,  George;  drive  this  geutlemaB  over  to  Mrs. 
JohBSOB's.    He's  lookiag  for  Wickhaui," 

Mrs.  JohnsoB  greeted  him  cordially. 

"I'bi  glad  to  know  Tom's  father.  Come  right  in." 
She  glanced  at  the  clock.    "They'll  be  back  soon." 

Mr.  Wiekham  sat  down.  "They?"  he  thought.  Who 
■were  "they"? 

83 


84  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

"Tour  son  felt  so  miserable  about  this  affair,"  said 
Mrs.  Johnson,  "that  after  supper  I  insisted  he  take  Sadie 
— that's  my  daughter — to  the  movies  to  get  it  off  his 
mind." 

Mr.  Wickham  looked  around  the  small  plain  room. 
So  this  was  where  Tom  lived.  In  contrast  he  saw  his 
rambling  farm-house  and  broad  acres  and  wondered 
wherein  lay  the  lure  of  city  life. 

Mrs.  Johnson  was  friendly  and  sympathetic. 
"When  did  you  hear  of  it?"  she  asked. 
"A  friend  of  Tom's  saw  it  in  the  morning  paper  and 
telephoned  out  to  me,  about  twelve.    I  managed  to  catch 
the  two  o'clock  train  and  just  got  here.    I  went  to  the 
garage  first." 

"Haven't  you  had  any  supper  ?" 

"I  couldn't  eat  anything,"  he  said  huskily. 

"But  Tom  is  innocent!"  she  exclaimed. 

"I'm  sure  of  that,  but — you  see "    He  i^ubbed  his 

glasses  and,  when  he  could  trust  his  voice,  continued: 
"He's  our  only  child.  When  Bud  told  me  on  the  phone 
that  Tom  was  under  arrest  I  felt  as  if — as  if  I  wanted  to 
die  right  there !  I  didn 't  dare  tell  his  mother.  It  would 
kill  her — the  bare  thought  of  the  boy's  being  locked  up." 
"Yes,  I  know."  Mrs.  Johnson's  thoughts  turned 
swiftly  to  the  subject  that  was  rarely  absent  from  her 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  85 

mind — to  the  son  who  was  away  and  whose  name  was 
never  mentioned. 

The  return  of  Sadie  and  Tom  was  timely. 

"Why,  father !  You  here !"  exclaimed  Tom  in  amaze- 
ment. "What's  the  matter?  You  didn't  telegraph. 
Mother?    Is  she " 

"Bud  telephoned  about  your — arrest,  Tom.  I  came 
up  on  the  first  train." 

"But,  my  goodness,  father,  I  didn't  hit  the  man. 
There's  no  need  to  think  about  it  any  more.  I  hope 
mother  isn't  worrying." 

"She  doesn't  know,  Tom.  I  didn't  have  the  heart  to 
tell  her.    She  thinks  I  came  up  about  extra  help. ' ' 

"Besides,"  Tom  went  on,  "I  wasn't  really  locked  up. 
They  just  held  me  while  they  investigated.  And  then 
they  let  me  go.  There's  no  disgrace  in  that — not  a  mil- 
lionth part  of  the  disgrace  the  people  who  struck  the  man 
must  be  feeling.  I  wouldn't  be  in  their  shoes  for  any- 
thing." 

"Are  the  police  trying  to  find  them?" 

"Trying?  Certainly  not!"  He  paused  impressively. 
"The  thing's  most  likely  been  hushed  up." 

"You  mean  they  know?"  exclaimed  his  father  in 
amazement, 

"They  probably  don't  know — exactly;  but  certain  in- 


86  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

fluences  have  been  powerful  enough  to  head  off  a  real 
investigation." 

"It's  an  outrage!  And  you  are  the  one  to  suffer! 
I'll  hire  a  detective  myself!" 

Tom  smiled. 

"No  use,"  he  said.  "Just  forget  it.  But  I  almost  got 
really  arrested  this  afternoon.  When  I  came  out  of  the 
station  a  sharp-faced  little  lawyer  grabbed  me  and  wanted 
to  take  the  case  for  me.  He  said  we  could  sue  for  false 
imprisonment,  or  sue  the  Morlands  for  damages,  and 
split  what  we  got.  He  was  so  persistent  I  had  to  threaten 
to  break  his  face  for  him."  Tom  grinned.  "That's  the 
one  bright  spot  in  the  day.    The  measly  little  rat !" 

Mrs.  Johnson  whispered  to  Sadie,  who  left  the  room. 
As  Mr.  Wickham's  gaze  followed  the  girl,  young  and 
l^retty,  a  thought  of  Emily  Harbridge  flashed  through  his 
mind.  His  eyes  were  sadder  when  he  turned  again  to 
Tom. 

"This  Miss  Morland?"  he  asked.  "Why  wasn't  she 
with  you  when  you  came  back?" 

"She  decided  at  the  last  minute  to  come  in  another 
car." 

"Has  she  done  anything  to  help  you?" 

"I  haven't  heard  from  her,"  answered  Tom;  "but 
why  should  I?    She  doesn't  want  to  get  mixpd  un  in  the 


THE    EESTLESS    AGE  87 

affair !"  He  spoke  so  bitterly  that  Ms  father  leaned  for- 
ward quickly. 

"Who  did  she  come  back  with?" 

"Some  man.    A  tall  fellow.    It  was  too  dark  to  see. " 

"Were  they  ahead,  or  behind  you?" 

"Now,  father,  what's  the  use  of  speculating?  The 
thing's  over  and  done  with.    There's  no  use,  I  tell  you." 

"But " 

Here  Sadie  Johnson  returned  with  a  pot  of  steaming 
coffee  and  some  bread  and  butter.  The  tension  was 
relieved. 

Just  then  the  doorbell  rang. 

"Mercy!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Johnson.  "Who  in  the 
world  is  coming  at  this  hour?" 

She  opened  the  door  and  confronted  a  tall  young  man 
who  was  weaving  somewhat  unsteadily  on  his  feet. 


M^^T^^^onf^ 


Harry  Ellgate's  nerves  were  ragged  after  a  sleepless 
night.  Whenever  he  shut  his  eyes  he  saw  the  flying 
figure  of  a  man  and  he  would  get  up  and  take  another 
drink. 

In  the  morning  he  read  that  Tom  Wickham  was  being 
held. 

"Ghastly!"  he  thought.  "I  hit  a  man  and  leave  him 
in  the  road.    "Wickham  picks  him  up  and  gets  arrested." 

He  pondered  gloomily. 

"If  I  confess,  I  get  Lucille  in  for  a  mess  of  beastly 
notoriety.  If  I  don't  poor  Tom  stands  the  blame.  Eot- 
ten  business,  any  way  you  look  at  it." 

After  a  restless  day  indoors,  he  was  relieved  to  read  of 
Tom's  release,  but  was  startled  to  see  the  police  claimed 
to  have  a  clew  to  the  guilty  one.  He  wondered  if  Tom  had 
recognized  him  with  Miss  Morland  at  the  club.    If  not, 

89 


90  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

all  was  well.  If  he  had,  something  must  be  done,  and  at 
once. 

He  decided  to  find  Tom  and  know  the  worst. 

So,  fortifying  himself  further  with  liquid  courage,  he 
arrived  in  time  at  the  modest  home  of  Sadie  and  Mrs. 
Johnson,  where  he  found  Tom  and  his  father.  Tom  was 
amazed. 

"Harry  Ellgate!"  he  cried.  "Well,  for  the  love  of 
Pete !    Where  did  you  blow  in  from  ? ' ' 

"Saw  your  name  in  the  papers,  did  a  little  sleuthing, 
and  here  I  am." 

"But  I  thought  you  were  still  on  the  other  side." 

Harry  beamed  expansively.  His  relief  was  intense. 
Tom  had  not  recognized  him  the  night  before. 

"Well,  it's  great  to  see  you,"  said  Harry.  "Last  tune 
was  in  the  hospital  with  several  punctures.  I  thoiight 
they  had  your  number,  old  man." 

Sadie  leaned  forward,  wide-eyed.  "Why,  Tom,  you 
never  told  me  3^ou  had  been  wounded." 

"Wounded!"  said  Harry.  "He  was  a  regular  sieve. 
The  whole  division  was  talking — " 

"Lay  off!"  interrupted  Tom.  "Tell  us  where  you've 
been.    That 's  more  interesting. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  tell  us  how  he  was  wounded,"  cried  Sadie 
eagerly. 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  91 

"It  wasn't  mucli,"  said  Tom,  "I'll  tell  you  some 
other  time." 

"Oh,  no,  it  wasn't  much,"  repeated  Harry.  "Only  a 
slight  scratch  through  both  lungs,  and  another  through 
the  arm  and  shoulder  and  neck.  He  was  merely  laid  up 
for  four  months,  that's  all.  But  tell  me,  Tom,  how  long 
have  you  been  in  town?" 

"Only  a  month  or  so.    I  got  restless  on  the  farm." 

"I  hope  you've  had  enough  of  the  city,  Tom."  His 
father  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"Well,  I'll  admit  things  haven't  been  rosy." 

"I  hope  you're  ready  to  go  back  with  me,  Tom." 
There  was  deep  wistfulness  in  his  voice.  "You  know  how 
much  we  need  men — and — your  mother  misses  you  so 
much." 

Sadie's  face  was  a  study  as  she  gazed  unseeingly  into 
the  empty  grate.  Tom  was  silent,  and  his  father  con- 
tinued hopefully. 

"You'll  find  things  improved,  Tom.  They've  organ- 
ized a  community  center  at  Grangefield — all  sorts  of 
amusements — dancing,  billiards,  athletic  contests.  The 
boys  won't  have  to  come  to  the  city  for  diversion  any 
more. "  He  paused.  "Bud  Andrews  is  at  the  head  of  the 
movement.    They're  talking  of  running  him  for  mayor." 

At  last  Tom  spoke. 


92  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

"I  can't  go  back,  father;  it  would  be  a  confession  of 
failure.    I'd  be  ashamed.    Later,  perhaps,  but  not  now." 

Sadie's  face  brightened.  Harry  Ellgate's  revealed 
sudden  determination. 

"You  say  you  are  short  of  men  ?"  he  asked. 

"Very,"  answered  Mr.  Wickliam.  "They  are  hard 
to  get  and  harder  to  keep. " 

Harry  straightened  up.  "I  want  to  get  away  from 
the  city.  I'll  go  down.  I  worked  on  a  Kansas  farm  one 
summer  with  some  fellows  from  college — sort  of  a  lark, 
you  know.  Healthy  life,  too.  Never  felt  better.  Let  me 
try  for  a  couple  of  months," 

Mr.  Wickham  smiled  deprecatingly.  The  elegant  fig- 
ure, the  slightly  dissipated  face,  seemed  to  foredoom  the 
experiment  to  failure, 

"IVe  been  too  busy  drinking  up  here.  The  city's 
reeking  with  booze,"  explained  Harry,  "But  don't 
worry.    I  hear  it 's  hard  to  get  in  the  country. ' ' 

Mr.  "Wickham  shook  his  head.  He  couldn't  imagine 
Ellgate  working  on  a  farm.  "The  hours  are  long,  and  we 
live  very  simj)ly," 

"I'm  not  fussy,"  replied  Harry  cheerfully.  "A  year 
in  French  farm-houses  with  animals  and  dung  heaps  has 
cured  me  of  fastidiousness." 


THE    EESTLESS    AGE  93 

Mr,  Wickham  looked  at  Tom  and  Tom  looked  at 
Hariy. 

"I'm  in  earnest,"  said  the  latter,  and  they  all  smiled. 

"Well,  I'm  willing,"  said  Mr.  "Wickham,  "especially 
if  you  think  it  will  do  you  good.    You're  Tom's  friend." 

"Right-o!  I'll  be  there  to-morrow  evening  with  bells 
on,"  and  he  arose  and  bade  them  good  night. 

* '  A  drunken  imptdse, "  said  Tom  to  his  father.  ' '  He  '11 
forget  all  about  it  before  morning." 

Nevertheless  at  nine  the  next  morning  Mr.  Harry  Ell- 
gate,  attired  in  his  oldest  clothes,  was  motoring  toward 
Grangefield.  At  his  side  was  a  young  lady,  a  most 
friendly  looking  soul. 

"This  is  going  to  be  such  fun,"  she  said.  "I  love  ad- 
ventures. Here  w^e  are,  you  and  I,  with  real  adventure 
ahead.  I  don't  know  where  we're  going,  but  we're  on  our 
way.    We're  in  the  lap  of  the  gods,  let  come  what  may." 

"You're  a  good  sport,  Sister,"  said  Harry  gaily  as  he 
stepped  on  the  gas. 


-  i*(<£^rz^£tf^  ~ 


Late  in  the  afternoon  Harry  Ellgate's  car  rolled 
noiselessly  into  Grangefield.  He  was  alone  in  it.  The 
girl  he  called  "Sister"  abruptly  changed  her  mind  when 
she  heard  they  were  going  to  Grangefield. 

"Not  Grangefield!"  she  cried  in  alarm. 

"Sure.    Why  not?" 

Out  of  her  memory  leaped  the  name  of  the  town  and 
the  things  associated  with  it.  Tom  Wickham,  her  mas- 
querade as  a  "Y"  girl,  the  taxi  ride,  the  dinner  at  the 
roadhouse,  her  desertion  of  the  stupefied  youth !  And  he 
was  from  Grangefield !  No,  most  certainly  she  could  not 
go  there. 

"I'm  going  back,"  she  announced,  and  no  amount  of 
persuasion  could  shake  her, 

"But  you  were  strong  for  this  adventure,"  argued 
Harry. 

95 


96  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  she  said,  and  so  he  stopped 
at  a  village  and  put  her  on  a  train  for  the  city. 

"Fimny  folks,  women,"  reflected  Harry,  as  he  re- 
smned  his  way.  "Like  golf.  About  the  time  you  think 
you  know  'em,  you  find  out  you  don't." 

Of  course  he  would  miss  her.  She  was  to  have  been 
his  refuge  from  boredom,  for  he  knew  this  crazy  impulse 
to  work  on  a  fann  would  carry  with  it  a  fair  measure  of 
dull  hours, 

"However,"  he  thought,  "Ca  ne  fait  rien,  as  we  used 
to  say  over  there.  Perhaps  it's  better.  She  might  com- 
plicate things.  She  would  be  hard  to  explain  in  a  small 
town." 

He  had  not  been  in  Grangef ield  ten  minutes  before  he 
was  intensely  relieved  that  he  did  not  have  the  girl  with 
him.  As  he  stopped  to  inquire  the  whereabouts  of  the 
"Wickham  fami,  a  young  girl  passing,  who  overheard  his 
question,  regarded  him  with  sudden  interest.  He  was 
struck  by  her  loveliness. 

"They  don't  grow  complexions  like  that  in  the  city," 
he  thought.  Fifteen  minutes  later  he  was  knocking  at 
the  door  of  the  Wickham  farm-house. 

Mr.  Wickham 's  surprise  may  be  imagined.  His  farm 
hand  had  arrived — an  elegant  young  man  in  a  seven  thou- 
sand dollar  roadster.    The  drunken  impulse  of  the  night 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  97 

before  had  materialized  into  the  accomplished  fact.  A 
condition,  not  a  theory,  confronted  him. 

"Well,  well — why — "  he  groped  for  words.  "But 
surely  you're  not  in  earnest,  Mr.  Ellgate." 

"Don't  call  me  mister,"  said  Harry,  beaming  pleas- 
antly, "I'm  your  new  help.  I'm  in  dead  earnest.  I'm 
not  doing  this  to  help  you  but  to  help  myself.  I  think  I 
need  outdoor  life  and  hard  work — and  besides,  I  want 
to  get  away  from  the  city.  You'll  be  helping  me  more 
than  I '11  be  helping  you.  Just  lead  me  to  the  work  and," 
he  added  when  Mr.  Wickham  said  something  about  the 
spare  room,  "treat  me  like  the  rest  of  the  hands." 

Thus  was  Harry  Ellgate,  yoimg  man  of  fashion,  in- 
stalled into  the  Wickham  household  as  a  farm  hand.  It 
was  a  preposterous  situation,  but  intensely  interesting  to 
all  concerned.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wickham  discussed  it  in  low 
tones  long  after  their  usual  bedtime. 

"He's  Tom's  friend,"  said  Mr.  Wickliam,  "and  if  he 
wants  to  play  at  farm  work  for  a  while,  all  right.  We'll 
humor  him  on  Tom's  account.  He'll  get  tired  of  it  in  a 
few  days." 

"And  besides,"  cried  his  wife  eagerly,  "it  may  lead  to 
Tom's  return." 

But  the  strange  part  of  it  was  that  Ellgate  stayed. 

He  was  a  type  of  young  man  often  found  in  cities,  a 


98  THE     EESTLESS    AGE 

contradictory  mixture  of  charming  qualities  and  glaring 
weaknesses  of  character.  His  likeable  personality  had 
made  him  the  envy  of  college  mates  who  were  in  every 
way  more  worthy.  Attractive  but  undependable,  inter- 
esting but  weak,  this  was  Ellgate. 

Mr.  "VVickham  showed  him  about  the  farm  and  ex- 
plained the  various  duties  he  was  expected  to  perform. 
He  supplied  the  overalls  which  were  humorously  incon- 
gruous beneath  Ellgate 's  pallid,  aristocratic  face.  He 
illustrated  the  proper  stance  while  milking  a  cow,  and 
the  correct  method  of  cleaning  out  a  stall.  Momentarily 
he  awaited  the  indignant  revulsion  against  these  menial 
tasks. 

But  young  Mr.  Ellgate  was  game. 

There  was  no  job  too  menial  for  him.  He  worked  with 
an  energy  that  must  have  impressed  even  himself.  He 
exhibited  no  shame  when  he  was  sent  to  the  village  in  his 
overalls,  redolent  of  the  stable.  And  in  the  evening  he 
might  be  seen  flashing  through  the  same  streets  in  his 
glistening  roadster  with  its  monogrammed  panels. 

"Within  a  week  he  was  the  most  discussed  person  in  the 
community.  He  found  himself  surrounded  with  a  pleas- 
ant veil  of  mystery  which  he  took  no  pains  to  disi^el. 

At  the  first  of  his  Saturday  evening  dances  at  the 
Grangefield  Community  Center  he  was  the  sensation. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  99 

"The  Bean  Bnimmel  of  the  Barnyard"  was  Bud  An- 
drews' cj-nical  comment. 

It  was  at  this  dance  that  he  was  first  introduced  to 
Emily  Harbridge. 


^/C^TiyrSo 


Harey  Ellgate  and  Emily  Harbridge  quickly  became 
friends. 

Harry  at  once  discovered  Emily's  interest  in  Tom 
Wickham  and  liis  instinct  showed  him  the  swiftest  road 
to  her  good  graces.  Tom  was  the  bond  of  s\Tnpathy,  so 
he  talked  of  Tom  and  told  her  what  a  splendid  fellow  Tom 
was. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  evening  at  the  Community  Cen- 
ter dance  Emily  felt  as  if  they  had  been  friends  for  years. 

But  if  Harry  had  won  a  friend,  he  had  also  made  a 
clever  and  resourceful  enemy.  Bud  Andrews  watched 
gloomily  the  rapid  growth  of  Emily's  interest  in  Ellgate. 
He  was  conscious  that  people  were  casting  amused 
glances  at  him,  and  his  thoughts  grew  bitter. 

101 


102  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

Gossip  is  alert  and  active  in  small  communities,  and 
next  day  it  was  buzzing  about  Emily  and  the  "Beau 
Brummel  of  the  Barnyard." 

Ellgate  was  too  shrewd  to  force  his  attentions  on 
Emily.  He  did  not  see  her  again  until  the  dance  a  week 
later.  Once  more  they  talked  of  Tom,  and  those  who 
watched  her  eager  interest  and  shining  eyes  attributed  it 
to  a  different  emotion.  And  another  aspect  of  the  little 
triangle  set  gossip  guessing.  Bud  Andrews  seemed  very 
friendly  toward  his  rival. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  Harry's  face  had  lost  the  marks 
of  dissipation.  Prohibition  as  practised  in  the  country 
is  not  the  farce  that  cities  make  it,  and  his  eyes  became 
clear  and  his  muscles  hard  from  healthy  work  and  reg- 
ular hours. 

He  was  clever  enough  not  to  put  on  airs.  He  dressed 
quietly  and  was  invariably  good-natured.  Such  hostility 
as  might  have  been  engendered  by  his  splendid  car  and 
his  air  of  city  breeding  was  swept  away  when  he  next  ap- 
peared in  overalls  on  a  load  of  manure.  People  couldn't 
stay  mad  under  these  circumstances. 

He  took  his  part  agreeably  in  the  activities  of  the  com- 
munity— played  on  the  local  ball  team,  helped  organize 
a  dramatic  club,  sang  in  the  glee  club,  and  occasionally 
helped  out  with  a  fair  line  of  dance  music  on  the  piano. 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  103 

In  a  month  he  had  established  himself  in  a  more  whole- 
some natural  life  than  he  had  ever  known  in  the  city. 

Those  who  predicted  the  speedy  failure  of  his  "ex- 
periment" were  surprised  to  find  him  staying  on  and  on. 

One  evening  Mr.  Wickham  and  his  wife  were  sitting 
on  their  porch.  The  day's  work  was  done  and  their  rock- 
ing chairs  creaked  in  pleasant  rhythm.  The  air  was  soft 
with  the  fragrance  of  summer  and  flowers. 

"Where's  Mr.  Ellgate?"  asked  Mrs.  AVickham  in  a 
low  voice. 

"He  went  up  to  his  room  right  after  supper.  I  guess 
he's  going  out." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Mrs.  Wickham  added 
significantly : 

"He  was  over  to  the  Harbridge^ again  last  night." 

Her  husband  said  nothing,  but  his  wife  knew  where 
his  thoughts  were. 

"I  wish  Tom  would  come  back."  Mrs.  Wickham 's 
voice  was  full  of  the  wistful  note  that  always  came  when 
she  mentioned  her  boy. 

"His  pride  won't  let  him,  mother.  He  feels  he  hasn't 
made  good  in  the  city.  It  would  nigh  kill  him  to  come 
back  now." 

"Dear,  dear,  everything's  topsy-turvy.  Here's 
Harry,  cut  out  for  city  life,  and  he 's  down  here  working 


104  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

on  a  farm.  And  Tom,  who's  a  natural  out-of-doors  boy, 
is  set  on  staying  cooped  up  in  the  city.  For  the  life  of  me 
I  can't " 

"Sh!" 

Harry  Ellgate  came  out  on  the  porch.  His  overalls 
had  been  replaced  by  a  trim  comfortable  suit  whose  quiet 
simplicity  bespoke  a  fashionable  and  expensive  tailor. 

' '  Spooning  ?  "  he  smiled. 

"Well,  not  exactly." 

"Great  night  for  it,"  said  Harry.  "I  thought  I'd  urge 
my  old  bus  out  for  a  little  ride.    I'll  be  back  early. " 

A  few  minutes  later  they  saw  his  car  glide  noiselessly 
out  of  the  barnyard  and  disappear  at  a  leisurely  pace 
down  the  road  toward  the  Harbridges'. 

For  a  long  time  the  farmer  and  his  wife  rocked  in 
silence.    Nearly  a  half-hour  passed  before  either  spoke. 

"Do  you  think  Emily  likes  him*?"  Mrs.  Wickham's 
troubled  words  showed  where  her  thoughts  had  been. 

"He's  over  there  a  good  deal  lately." 

"I  do  wish  Tom  would  come  home,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Wickham,  "People  are  beginning  to  pity  him."  Her 
voice  broke.    "I  can  hardly  bear  it." 

Long  after  they  retired  her  thoughts  continued  march- 
ing back  and  forth  in  wearisome  repetition.     The  big 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  105 

clock  in  the  dining-room  struck  hour  after  hour,  echoing 
in  the  silent  house. 

At  half -past  twelve  she  touched  her  husband's  arm. 

"I  haven't  heard  Harry  come  in,"  she  said.  "Do  you 
suppose  something  has  happened?" 


'I'^n^^'-'- 


Harry  Ellgate's  seven  thousand  dollar  roadster 
drew  silently  up  to  the  Harbridge  gate. 

"You  must  be  a  mind-reader,"  said  Emily  gaily,  in 
answer  to  his  invitation.  "I  was  just  wishing  for  a  ride. 
It 's  too  heavenly  to  stay  in  to-night. ' '    She  called  indoors : 

"I'm  going  for  a  ride  with  Mr.  Ell  gate,  mother.  We'll 
not  be  gone  long." 

A  moment  later  they  were  off.  The  fields  were  misty 
with  the  moonlight,  which  cast  an  enchantment  over  the 
land.  Mile  after  mile  of  white  roadway  unrolled  beneath 
them. 

"I  get  awfully  restless  a  night  like  this,"  Harry  said 
at  last,  " and  adventuresome." 

Emily  was  silent.    If  she  heard  him  she  gave  no  sign. 

Harry  furtively  watched  her  clear-cut  profile.    If  she 


107 


108  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

had  been  a  city  girl,  of  his  own  set,  he  would  have  known 
how  to  proceed.  If  action  is  not  speedy  enough  to  suit  a 
baby  vamp  of  society,  she  drops  a  hairpin  down  her  back 
and  appeals  for  assistance  in  recovering  it. 

Bvit  Emily  was  different.  Her  use  of  such  tactics  was 
unthinkable.  A  false  step  on  his  part  might  wreck  a 
friendship  which,  for  him,  was  swiftly  deepening. 

And  yet  a  night  like  this  was  not  one  for  empty  com- 
monplaces.   The  witchery  of  the  moon  was  in  his  blood. 

For  a  long  time  they  drove  in  silence.  The  smooth 
purr  of  the  engine  gave  no  suggestion  of  speed,  but  the 
unheeded  dial  wavered  between  thirty-five  and  forty. 

At  the  farther  edge  of  a  little  wood  the  car  slowed  and 
stopped  as  thougli  of  its  own  volition.  Behind  them  the 
moonlight  filtered  through  an  archway  of  leaves.  Ahead, 
away  off  across  the  silvery  fields,  the  mists  were  rolling 
up  like  a  lake. 

"Isn't  it  marvelous?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "and  just  think  of  the  thou- 
sands and  millions  of  people  in  the  stuffy  cities  who  never 
know  such  beauty." 

They  fell  again  into  silence,  each  conscious  of  the 
electric  tension  of  the  situation,  and  oblivious  of  time. 

Finally  Harry  spoke  huskily. 

"It's  so  beautiful  one  is  either  intensely  happy  or 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  109 

intensely  miserable."  There  was  a  shade  of  meaning 
which  Emily  could  not  misunderstand. 

But  the  spell  was  broken  by  the  sound  in  the  distance 
of  an  approaching  car,  and  voices  singing  raucously. 
Quickly  it  came  upon  them,  and  a  rough  voice  called  out : 

"Ah  there,  sweetheart.  Nice  night  for  spooning,  ain't 
it?" 

There  was  coarse  laughter,  and  another  voice,  thick 
and  unsteady,  added : 

"Say,  Cutie,  does  yer  ma  know  you're  out?" 

Emily  felt  the  blood  rise  to  her  face  in  mortification 
and  embarrassment.  Harry  stiffened  in  angry  silence. 
Better  endure  their  drunken  banter  than  risk  a  mix-up. 

But  the  other  car  stopped.  There  was  the  sound  of 
wrangling,  and  then,  to  Emily's  horror,  it  began  to  back 
toward  them. 

"We're  in  for  trouble,  I'm  afraid,"  muttered  Harry 
as  he  stepped  on  the  starter,  but  it  was  too  late.  At  the 
sound  a  couple  of  men  from  the  other  car  leaped  on  to  his 
running-board. 

"Hold  on  there,  brother.  Don't  be  unsociable.  Intr'- 
duce  us  to  the  lady.  We  wanta  give  you  a  drink. "  Ashe 
spoke  he  lurched  against  Emily's  shoulder  and  she  gave  a 
startled  cry.  Harry  pushed  him  backward  violently  and 
an  angry  curse  burst  from  him. 


no  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"Oh,  yer  goin'  to  get  nasty,  eh?  Come  on,  fellows,  this 
guy  wants  to  start  somethin'." 

Something  in  Harry  surged  up  like  an  uncontrollable 
flood.  He  saw  red,  and,  regardless  of  consequences,  he 
leaped  out  and  knocked  the  man  down.  As  he  tried  to 
regain  his  seat  the  other  man  struck  him  on  the  head  with 
a  bottle  and  he  sank  to  the  ground. 

The  men  in  the  other  car  cursed. 

"Now  youVe  played  hell.  Bill.    Come  on,  beat  it." 

"Hold  on!    Maybe  the  dame  can  run  the  bus." 

And  Emily  saw  the  four  tires  of  the  roadster  hacked, 
one  after  another. 

There  was  a  scramble,  and  in  a  moment  the  men  were 
on  their  way. 

Emily  was  appalled.  Harry  unconscious,  possibly 
seriously  hurt ;  the  car  useless,  on  a  lonely  road,  and  no 
house  in  sight.  Suppose  the  men  should  come  back  ?  Her 
heart  gave  a  jump. 

And  her  parents?  What  would  they  do  as  the  hours 
passed  and  she  didn't  return?  Thank  heaven,  they 
trusted  her.    But  did  they  trust  Harry  Ellgate  ? 


That  experience  was  destined  always  to  be  a  night- 
mare in  Emily  Harbridge's  memory.  Her  first  emotion 
upon  seeing  Harry  unconscious  and  the  car  hopelessly 
disabled  was  one  of  abject  helplessness.  It  would  have 
been  a  pleasure  to  faint,  but  she  knew  she  dare  not  suc- 
cumb. So  she  braced  herself  and  breathed  a  little  prayer 
for  help  and  guidance. 

A  quick  examination  showed  that  Harry  had  received 
an  ugly  gash  in  the  head.  Fragments  of  a  bottle  lay  on 
the  ground.    She  tried  to  revive  him,  but  without  success. 

"What  shall  I  do :  oh,  what  shall  I  do!" 

Shoidd  she  wait  in  the  hope  that  an  automobile  might 
pass  ?    It  was  after  ten  and  it  might  be  hours  before  any 


111 


112  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

one  would  pass  this  unfrequented  way.  Or  should  she 
start  afoot  for  the  nearest  house,  leaving  Harry  uncon- 
scious and  alone  ?  Feverishly  she  renewed  her  efforts  to 
revive  him.  Wiping  off  the  blood,  she  bound  the  wound 
with  strips  torn  from  an  undergarment,  propped  his  head 
up  on  a  seat  cushion,  and  covered  him  with  a  robe. 

Then  she  drew  a  quick  breath  and  started  ahead. 
There  were  haystacks  off  in  the  moonlight  and  she  rea- 
soned that  a  house  could  not  be  far.  It  was  intensely 
lonely,  and  the  shadows  by  the  roadside  seemed  alive  with 
moving  terrors.  Before  she  had  walked  a  mile  she  was 
hobbling,  for  the  little  high-heeled  house  slippers  were 
not  meant  for  road  walking. 

Far  ahead  from  a  clump  of  trees  rose  the  silhouette 
of  a  windmill,  but  long  before  she  reached  the  shadowy 
group  of  buildings  a  chorus  of  barking  dogs  shattered  the 
silence.    Her  courage  almost  failed. 

Meantime  Harry  had  come  to,  confused  at  first,  but 
gradually  clearer.  Why  was  he  alone?  Where  was 
Emily  ?  Surely  she  wouldn  't  desert  him.  He  called,  but 
to  no  avail.  Then  a  frightful  thought  struck  him  I 
Shocked  into  action,  he  sat  bolt  upright.  Great  heavens. 
Had  those  miserable  brutes  taken  her  in  their  carl  He 
dropped  his  head  into  his  hands  and  as  he  did  so  he  felt 
the  smooth  folds  of  the  bandage.    Then  he  realized. 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  113 

Thank  goodness,  she  must  be  all  right.  She  had  fixed 
him  up  and  gone  for  help.  By  jove,  there  was  grit  for 
you.  A  thrill  that  was  new  to  him  swept  through  him  and 
lent  him  false  strength.  He  struggled  to  his  feet,  only  to 
collapse  dizzily  on  the  rimning-board.  He  tried  again, 
but  could  not  stand.  His  helplessness  was  maddening. 
His  thoughts  went  out  to  Emily,  somewhere  in  the  night. 
Away  off  ahead  there  was  the  distant  barking  of  excited 
dogs.    He  dared  not  let  his  imagination  run. 

He  could  not  see  Emily  Harbridge  standing  resolutely 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  The  dogs  would  not  let  her 
proceed,  so  she  had  to  call  as  loudly  as  she  could. 

Presently  there  was  an  answering  cry. 

"Wliat's  the  matter?" 

"We've  had  an  accident.  Please  come  out,  and  call 
off  your  dogs." 

A  light  appeared  in  a  window  and  soon  a  man  came 
out.  To  him  the  white-clad  figure  of  a  girl  in  the  road 
was  weird  and  uncanny. 

In  a  few  words  she  told  him  the  situation,  and  he  got 
out  his  car  and  they  started  back  down  the  road. 

"Where  you  from?"  asked  the  farmer, 

"Grangefield." 

"Grangefield!  That's  nearly  fifty-five  miles!  I 
haven't  got  gas  enough." 


114  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

'*0h,  but  we  must  get  there  to-night.  My  family  will 
be  worried  to  death." 

"We  can  put  you  up  at  our  house,"  he  said  kindly, 
"and  you  can  telephone.    Your  folks  got  a  phone?" 

"Yes,  but  oh,  can't  you  understand?  I  simply  must 
get  home!" 

"I  don't  see  anything  wrong  about  staying  at  my 
house.  My  wife  can  make  you  comfortable  and  she's 
good  at  doctorin'  if  your  husband's  hurt  bad." 

"Oh,  but  he  isn't  my  husband.  He — he's  just  a  friend. 
Don't  you  see  I  must  get  home?" 

The  farmer's  brow  knitted.  Evidently  he  didn't  see. 
Why  go  traipsing  off  sixty  miles  at  midnight  when  they 
could  go  comfortably  next  morning  ? 

"You  can  telephone  from  my  house,"  he  said  simply, 
"or  else  I'll  run  you  in  to  the  hotel  at  Moorland,  six  miles 
north." 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  Emily.  "You're  very 
kind,"  she  added,  "and  I'm  very  grateful  to  you.  We 
won't  put  you  out." 

So  when  Harry  and  Emily  had  been  brought  back  to 
the  farm-house,  Emily,  unwilling  to  insist  on  further 
troubling  the  amiable  but  stolid  farmer,  put  in  a  call  for 
her  home,  and  after  an  interminable  wait  the  operator 
reported  the  line  out  of  order. 


-  ^^-u^rt^^^s^' 


There  seemed  nothing  to  do  but  spend  the  night  at  the 
farm-house.  If  she  could  have  telephoned  her  parents,  or 
the  Wickhams,  or  somebody,  Emily  could  have  faced  the 
situation  philosophically.  But  the  whole  Grangefield 
connection  was  out  of  order. 

The  thought  of  their  anxiety  and  distress  of  mind  was 
maddening. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  farmer;  "but  you  can  get  home 
early  to-morrow  and  explain  everything.  Besides,  it's 
just  as  well  not  to  move  your  friend  to-night.  He's  got  a 
bad  cut  on  his  head,  and  he  needs  a  good  night's  rest  right 
away." 

So,  accepting  the  inevitable,  Emily  Harbridge  and 
Harry  Ellgate  remained  at  the  farm-house.  Emily's  one 
prayer  was  that  her  parents  might  sleep  through  the  night 
in  peaceful  ignorance  that  she  had  not  returned. 


115 


116  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

This  prayer,  however,  was  not  to  be  realized.  When 
midnight  had  not  brought  their  daughter  home  they 
called  up  the  Wickham  house,  only  to  find  the  same 
uneasiness.  Fear  of  an  accident  alternated  in  all  their 
minds  with  a  vague  distrust  of  the  more  or  less  mysterious 
young  man  of  whom  they  knew  so  little. 

"Oh,  I  just  know  something  dreadful  has  happened," 
sobbed  Mrs.  Harbridge. 

For  the  twentieth  time  she  had  gone  to  the  window 
with  ears  strained  for  the  sound  of  the  returning  car. 
But  the  night  was  silent  and  the  bed  in  Emily's  room  was 
undisturbed. 

Mr.  Harbridge  strove  bravely  to  conceal  his  own  deep 
concern. 

"They've  had  a  breakdown,"  he  said  with  an  attempt 
at  cheerfulness.  "Run  out  of  gas,  probably.  Likely  to 
happen  to  any  car,  and  always  at  the  worst  possible  time 
and  place." 

"But  why  doesn't  she  telephone?  It  isn't  like  Emily 
not  to." 

Her  husband  stirred  uneasily  on  his  pillow. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "we  can't  do  anything 
ito-night.  We  don 't  know  where  to  go  or  what  to  do.  All 
we  can  do  is  to  wait  till  morning.  Try  to  go  to  sleep,  dear. 
I'm  sure  everything's  all  right." 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  117 

"Can't  we  call  up  Emily's  friends  to  see  if  she's 
there?" 

"No;  if  she  was  there,  she  would  have  telephoned." 

At  this,  Mrs.  Harbridge,  half  frantic  with  tragic 
imaginings,  burst  into  tears  afresh. 

After  an  interminable  night,  the  Harbridges  were  up 
at  the  break  of  dawn. 

One  after  another,  they  called  up  Emily's  friends, 
only  to  hear  that  she  had  not  been  seen.  And  from  each 
came  a  comforting  assurance  that  the  car  had  probably 
broken  down  and  that  soon  she  would  return. 

It  was  one  of  these  friends,  Tillie  Randall,  whose 
fancy  gave  the  incident  a  romantic  turn.  She  called  up 
Bud  Andrews,  whose  interest  in  Emily  was  well  known. 
She  could  not  forego  this  opportunity  to  inflict  pain. 

"Have  you  heard  about  Emily  Harbridge  1"  she  asked 
excitedly.  "She  went  away  last  night  with  that  Mr. 
Ellgate,  and  hasn't  returned.  Her  folks  are  half  wild. 
They  think  there's  been  an  accident.  But  my  opinion  is 
they  've  eloped.    I  wouldn  't  trust  that  man  out  of  sight. ' ' 

The  telephone  operator  in  Grangefield,  listening  in, 
added  impetus  to  this  by  relaying  it  to  friends,  so  that  by 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  rumor  was  spreading 
wildly  throughout  the  town. 

It  became  a  topic  transcending  all  others.    The  farm- 


318  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

ers  forgot  their  dismay  at  the  falling  price  of  wheat. 
Emily  Harbridge,  of  all  girls !  She  was  the  very  last  one 
would  expect  to  do  such  a  thing.  And,  besides,  wasn't 
she  supposed  to  be  practically  engaged  to  Tom  Wickham  ? 
People  love  to  be  stirred  by  scandal,  especially  when 
it  rests  upon  those  who  happily  have  escaped  it  hereto- 
fore; and  no  news  spreads  so  swiftly  or  imparts  such 
delight  in  the  retelling. 

Grangef  ield  was  in  the  grip  of  this  interesting  devel- 
opment when  a  strange  car  appeared.  It  was  driven  by 
a  farmer,  and  in  the  back  seat  sat  Emily  Harbridge  and 
Harry  Ellgate,  the  latter  with  a  bandage  wound  about  his 
head. 

The  rumor  of  the  elopement  collapsed  as  the  story  of 
the  night's  events  was  related.  From  the  farmer  came 
unimpeachable  corroboration.  The  bandaged  Harry 
found  himself  invested  with  the  glamour  of  a  heroism 
which  he  modestly  disclaimed. 

"Miss  Harbridge  is  the  real  hero,"  he  said.  "She 
fixed  me  up  and  went  for  help — miles  away  on  a  lonely 
country  road.  She  tried  to  telephone  home,  but  the  line 
was  out  of  order.  The  pain  I  felt  with  this  bump  on  my 
head  was  nothing  to  what  she  suffered  when  she  couldn't 
reach  her  parents  by  phone. ' ' 

A  little  later  he  was  propped  up  in  his  own  room  at  the 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  119 

Wickhams'  and  Emily  was  in  the  arms  of  an  hysterically 
happy  mother. 

The  one  immediate  action  resulting  from  the  adven- 
ture was  taken  by  Mrs.  Wickham. 

She  wrote  to  her  son  Tom  urging  him  to  come  home 
at  once. 


•  /t<<a>T^£«'*  ' 


Two  letters  were  waiting  for  Tom  Wickham. 
The  first  was  from  his  mother,  and  he  read  it  over 
twice  with  knitted  brows.    She  wrote : 


You  must  come  home,  Tom,  even  if  only  for  a  day  or 
two.  I  feel  you  should  know  how  things  are  going. 
Your  friend  Harry  Ellgate  is  laid  up  with  a  bad  cut  on 
his  head.  Some  drunken  men  struck  him  senseless 
while  he  was  out  motoring  with  Emily  last  night  and  cut 
all  the  tires  of  his  car,  so  Emily  had  to  walk  a  long  way 
on  a  lonely  road  for  help.  And  when  she  got  it  there  was 
no  way  to  get  home.  She  and  Harry  stayed  all  night  at  a 
farm-house  and  were  brought  back  this  morning.  You 
can  imagine  what  gossip  the  affair  has  caxised.  People 
are  openly  hinting  at  an  engagement,  but  I  don't  think 
it  has  gone  that  far.  We  don't  want  Emily  to  get  too 
fond  of  your  friend.  Your  father  remembers  the  con- 
dition he  was  in  when  he  first  saw  him,  although  it  is  only 
fair  to  say  he  has  behaved  himself  while  here.     But 

121 


122  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

surely  you  can  understand  why  you  must  come  home,  if 
you  care  for  her  at  all.  They  are  both  to  take  part  in  an 
amateur  play  before  long,  and  the  rehearsals  will  throw 
them  together  a  good  deal.  I  feel  sure  Emily  thinks  the 
world  of  you,  but  you  can't  expect  a  girl  to  go  on  forever 
like  that,  especially  when  she  never  sees  you.  She  used  to 
come  to  see  me  often,  but  she  hasn't  been  here  now  for 
nearly  a  month.  You  don't  know  how  I  pray  to  see  you. 
You  probably  don't  need  money;  but  if  you  do,  I'll  send 
it ;  only  please  come  next  Saturday. 

Tom  folded  the  letter  slowly,  and  for  a  long  time 
stared  out  of  the  window. 

He  still  had  his  room  at  Mrs.  Johnson's,  for  he  sus- 
pected his  weekly  rent  was  of  vital  importance.  Also  he 
was  deeply  grateful  to  Mrs.  Johnson  and  her  daughter, 
Sadie,  for  their  unfailing  kindness. 

After  his  discharge  from  the  Alert  Garage  he  made 
several  attempts  to  interest  himself  in  uncongenial  work, 
but  he  was  too  restless  to  endure  them  for  long.  At  first 
it  had  been  easy  to  get  positions,  but  as  the  summer  wore 
on  they  became  scarcer.  Staffs  were  cut  instead  of 
increased,  and  more  and  more  men  scanned  the  long 
neglected  pages  of  want  ads. 

He  became  profoundly  depressed.  He  wanted  to  go 
home,  but  his  pride  rebelled.  He  remembered  Bud  An- 
drews' terse  remark: 

''You're  too  late,  Tom.     The  easy-money  period  is 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  123 

about  over,  and  the  city  man  lias  some  rough  sledding 
ahead  of  him.  The  gent  out  in  the  corn-field  will  be  the 
lucky  guy  from  now  on." 

Tom  had  begun  to  think  Bud  was  right  until  one  day 
he  received  a  strange  note. 

It  was  signed  with  an  unknown  name,  but  he  noted  the 
letter-head  was  that  of  a  law  firm. 

"Your  name  has  been  suggested  to  us,"  it  ran.  "Are 
you  open  to  take  a  position  in  the  Henry  Morland  com- 
pany ?  It  will  not  pay  much  at  first,  but  the  firm  is  large, 
with  wide  interests,  and  there  is  ample  chance  to  work 
up." 

After  his  first  surprise  Tom  guessed  that  probably 
Miss  Morland  had  something  to  do  with  it — perhaps  as 
a  sort  of  sop  for  her  responsibility  in  the  loss  of  his  gar- 
age job.    But  this  was  only  speculation. 

He  had  taken  the  i)osition  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
had  now  held  down  a  white-collar  job  for  some  four 
weeks.  He  was  forced  to  reflect  that  it  did  not  pay  as 
well  as  an  overall  job,  but  he  hoped  that  disadvantage 
might  be  only  temporary.  Neither  was  he  disheartened 
by  the  other  white-collar  men  who  had  held  the  same 
jobs  at  about  the  same  pay  for  years  of  tenacious  monot- 
ony.   From  these  plodding  ranks  must  come  some  of  the 


124  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

bosses  of  the  future,  as  there  were  certainly  not  enough 
favored  sons  to  fill  all  the  big  positions. 

Tom  had  not  been  with  the  Morland  company  long 
before  one  of  these  same  favored  sons,  Austin  Newell, 
discovered  him. 

"For  the  love  of  Pete!  I  thought  you  were  perma- 
nently crippled."  And  as  a  result  of  this  reunion  with 
one  of  his  old  flying  companions,  Tom  had  been  intro- 
duced around  the  office. 

"Mr.  Morland,"  cried  the  exuberant  Austin,  "this  is 
Tom  Wickham,  one  of  the  best  ever.  He  got  a  D.  S.  C. 
Persh  pinned  it  on  himself." 

As  he  remembered  this  incident  Tom  smiled  and  the 
bleak  roofs  and  chimneys  outside  his  window  lost  much 
of  their  drabness. 


He  then  opened  the  second  letter. 

It  was  an  invitation  to  dine  at  the  Morlands'  the  fol- 
lowing Saturday — the  same  day,  by  the  irony  of  fate, 
that  his  mother  expected  him  to  come  home. 

Tom  read  the  invitation  over  and  over,  as  if  fascinated 
by  the  unreality  of  it, 

"What  can  it  mean  ?"  he  thought.  "Is  it  pity,  or  just 
the  caprice  of  a  spoiled  girl  who  is  bored?" 

He  was  conscious  that  the  war  had  introduced  new 
social  standards  and  that  the  modern  young  women  in 
search  of  diversion  were  ready  to  stray  far  beyond  the 
old  conventional  limits.  They  invited  all  kinds  of  freaks 
to  their  houses,  people  who  momentarily  held  the  spotlight 
in  this  restless  age — therefore,  why  not  himself? 

That  must  be  it,  he  thought,  though  the  conclusion  was 
not  flattering. 


125 


126  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

He  would  have  been  more  pleased  could  lie  liave  heard 
the  conversation  between  Mr.  Morland  and  his  daughter 
three  nights  before. 

They  had  just  finished  dinner  and  had  gone  into  the 
little  morning-room.  The  great  house  was  closed  for  the 
summer,  darkened  and  draped  in  dust  covers.  Only  a 
few  essential  rooms  were  kept  open  for  their  occasional 
use  when  they  happened  to  be  in  town.  Only  an  old  care- 
taker and  his  wife  remained. 

Mr,  Morland  settled  back  in  his  favorite  chair  with  his 
evening  paper  before  him.  He  was  reacting  pleasantly  to 
the  coziness  of  the  room,  with  its  cheery  fire  in  the  grate 
— although  it  was  summer — and  further  cause  of  his 
contentment  was  the  comfortable  thought  that  a  success- 
ful deal  that  day  had  made  him  a  great  sum  of  money. 
His  lawyer  had  devised  an  ingenious  plan — and  perfectly 
legal — whereby  a  considerable  part  of  this  could  escape 
the  income  tax. 

Therefore  he  was  in  a  genial  mood. 

"By  the  way,  Lucille,  do  you  remember  that  young 
Wickham — the  man  who  got  the  blame  when  you  and 
Ellgate  hit  that  fellow  on  the  Belleview  highroad?" 

The  color  left  Miss  Morland 's  face.  Heavens!  was 
that  dreadful  case  to  be  reopened  ? 

But  her  father  continued  placidly : 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  127 

"Well,  he's  working  in  my  office  now.  He  was  on 
my  conscience  a  bit,  so  I  had  my  lawyer  look  him  up  and 
give  him  a  place.    I  met  him  to-day." 

"You  met  him!"  exclaimed  Lucille. 

"Yes.  It  seems  he's  an  old  friend  of  Austin.  They 
were  together  in  the  war,  and  I  must  say  he  seems  like  a 
nice  boy.    I  was  quite  favorably  impressed." 

Miss  Morland's  cold  blue  eyes  were  staring  into  the 
dancing  flames. 

Strange  how  this  young  man  kept  coming  up  in  her 
life !  A  few  weeks  ago  she  had  never  heard  of  him.  Yet 
since  then  he  was  continually  recurring.  Harry  Ellgate 
had  known  him,  Austin  Newell  had  known  him,  and  now 
her  father.  And  she  was  honest  enough  with  herself  to 
confess  that  many  times  in  the  past  weeks  she  had  found 
herself  wondering  what  had  become  of  him. 

He  was  not  on  her  conscience,  for  her  conscience  was 
not  of  a  tender  sort.  But  she  was  curious.  This  young 
person  had  piqued  her  interest.    He  was  ' '  different. ' ' 

Through  her  mind  shot  a  sudden  thought.  Why  not 
continue  her  "sociological  experiment?"  Why  not 
amuse  herself  for  a  brief  moment  ?  If  he  bored  her,  she 
could  drop  him  without  a  twinge  of  feeling,  as  she  had 
dropped  many  others.  And,  besides,  society  in  the  city 
was  in  the  summer  doldrums  and  diversion  was  rare. 


128  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"Would  you  like  to  have  him  to  dinner  some  time, 
father?" 

Mr.  Morland,  deep  in  liis  paper,  murmured  a  pre- 
occupied approval,  and  so  the  invitation  was  sent. 

She  little  realized  what  a  formidable  problem  of  con- 
duet  her  caprice  was  costing  Tom  Wickham,  now  faced 
with  the  necessity  of  deciding  between  two  courses. 

"You  don't  know  how  I  pray  to  see  you,"  his  mother 
had  written.    ' '  Only  please  come  next  Saturday. ' ' 

And  Miss  Morland  had  written  in  her  aristocratic 
hand  and  upon  her  crested  stationery : 

"My  father  and  I  hope  you  will  dine  wth  us  next 
Saturday  at  seven-thirty.    Quite  informally,  of  course." 

She  had  added  the  last  words  to  spare  him  the  anxiety 
about  evening  clothes,  which  she  suspected  he  might  not 
possess. 

"The  irony  of  Fate,"  reflected  Tom.  "Both  are  for 
Saturday  night,  and  I  've  got  to  decide. ' ' 

Something  within  him,  an  intuition  which  always  told 
him  the  right  thing  to  do,  counseled  him  to  decline  Miss 
Morland 's  invitation  by  saying  that  he  was  going  home 
for  Saturday  and  Sunday.  And  yet  he  realized  that 
powerful  impulses  were  tugging  against  this  course — 
curiosity,  adventure,  and,  not  the  least,  the  appeal  to  his 
vanity  in  being  an  invited  guest  at  the  great  Morland 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  129 

mansion.  He  hated  himself  as  he  recognized  the  strength 
of  this  last  appeal. 

"Your  mother  will  understand.  You  can  go  down  a 
week  later.  It  is  important  to  your  career  to  know  the 
Morlands.  Mr.  Morland  is  your  employer.  He  can  help 
you  far  along  your  way.  Your  mother  will  understand  if 
you  explain  it  all  to  her." 

And  against  these  insidious  arguments  arose  the  dear 
patient  face  of  his  mother,  and  in  his  ears  was  resoimding 
the  appeal,  which  he  knew  came  deep  from  her  heart : 

"You  don't  know  how  I  pray  to  see  you — only  please 
come  next  Saturday." 

At  a  late  hour,  with  his  heart  and  his  head  struggling 
against  each  other,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  his  two  letters 
— one  to  Miss  Morland  and  one  to  his  mother. 


/f'<:'7<^^o^' 


In  the  conflict  between  heart  and  head,  the  latter  won. 
Tom  Wickham  accejjted  the  invitation  to  dine  with  Miss 
Morland  on  Saturday,  and  wrote  a  long  apologetic  letter 
to  his  mother.  He  knew  how  disappointed  she  would  be, 
and  with  each  word  that  he  wrote  he  felt  a  growing 
weight  of  self-condemnation. 

He  strove  to  persuade  himself  that  he  was  acting  for 
what  would  be  the  best  in  the  long  run,  but  down  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  he  knew  these  arguments  did  not  ring 
true. 

Miss  Morland  received  his  note  with  a  cryptic  smile, 
and  tossed  it  aside.  "Very  amusing,"  she  thought: 
"  'Miss  Lucille  Morland,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Henry 
Morland,  is  entertaining  Mr.  Thomas  Wickham,  ex- 
chauffeur,  at  a  small  dinner'!  We  go  far  these  days  to 
find  relief  from  boredom!" 


131 


132  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

His  mother  opened  his  letter  with  trembling  eager- 
ness, and  its  contents  fell  like  a  blow.  She  had  been  so 
sure  he  would  come.  She  had  been  counting  the  hours, 
and  his  room  had  been  aired  and  made  cheery  with  flow- 
ers. She  had  even  called  up  Emily  Harbridge  to  tell  her 
that  Tom  was  expected.  And  now  this  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. 

"Tom  is  not  coming,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "He 
says  he  is  invited  to  a  dinner  at  the  home  of  the  people 
he's  working  for,  but  that  he'll  try  his  best  to  come  next 
week." 

Later,  when  Harry  EUgate  came  in,  his  head  still 
bandaged,  she  asked  him  about  the  ^lorlands. 

"Well,  they're  quite  important,"  he  told  her.  "He's 
very  rich,  and  his  daughter  is  socially  very  i^rominent." 

"Is  she  attractive?"  asked  Tom's  mother. 

"Well,  she's  very  good-looking,  but  not  appealing.  I 
think  I'd  say  she  was  rather  hard.  I've  known  her  for 
years,  and  I  must  say  I  don't  much  like  the  idea  of  Tom's 
getting  mixed  up  with  her.  She 's  generally  very  nice  to 
a  man  until  she's  caught  him,  and  then  she  gets  bored 
and  drops  him  flat." 

"If  she's  that  kind,  I'm  sure  Tom  won't  like  her. 
But,  just  the  same,  I  wish  he  wouldn't  see  much  of  her." 

Ellgate  was  struck  by  the  note  of  tired  wistfulness  in 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  133 

her  voice,  and  as  he  walked  out  to  the  hammock  in  the 
orchard  where  he  w^as  spending  most  of  his  convalescence, 
his  mind  was  busy  with  a  noble  plan  for  protecting  Tom 
from  the  heartlessness  of  Lucille. 

"Of  all  the  cold-blooded  propositions  in  the  world,  she 
is  the  champion !  And  Tom 's  the  next  victim.  It 's  rather 
decent  of  her  to  stick  around  with  her  father  when  he  has 
to  be  in  town,  but  I  can  see  her,  bored  stiff,  with  nobody 
to  play  with,  and  grabbing  the  first  amusement  that 
offers  itself." 

He  reflected  for  a  long  time  before  he  reached  a 
decision. 

"I  think  I'll  just  drop  Tom  a  line  which  will  finish 
this  affair  in  one  round!" 

And  so  he  wrote  a  rambling  letter  which  concluded 
with  these  words : 

**.  .  .  So  you  are  dining  with  Lucille  Morland  ?  Well, 
remember,  Tom,  she's  not  half  as  cold  and  unapproach- 
able as  she  seems.  You  can  go  far  with  her,  and  while 
you're  on  your  way  please  give  her  a  little  kiss  for  me." 

"There,"  thought  Harry  as  he  sealed  the  letter,  "that 
ought  to  do  the  business.  Nobody  has  ever  dared  touch 
Lucille  with  a  ten-foot  pole!  And,  if  Tom  tries  it,  his 
social  relations  with  the  lady  are  likely  to  be  absolutely 
over — finis!    A  drastic  remedy,  but  justifiable." 


134  THE    RESTLESS     AGE 

In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  Tom  make  the  advance — say, 
take  her  hand.  Then  the  explosion.  Exit  Tom,  pursued 
by  the  devastating  words  which  Miss  Morland  knew  so 
well  how  to  use.  Harry  indulged  himself  in  a  broad  and 
soul-satisfying  smile. 

Tom  received  the  letter  Saturday  morning,  and  read 
the  closing  lines  several  times. 

Late  that  afternoon  a  brief  note  from  Miss  Morland 
announced  that  she  had  a  severe  headache  and  would  have 
to  defer  the  dinner  until  Tuesday.  So  sorry,  etc.  He 
could  not  know  that  her  "headache"  did  not  prevent  her 
motoring  out  to  the  Elysian  Fields  Country  Club  to  a 
hastily  improvised  party  in  honor  of  a  friend  passing 
through  town. 

Tom  spent  a  bitter  evening  in  his  room.  He  realized 
it  served  him  right  for  having  catered  to  his  vanity.  But 
this  was  the  third  time  this  girl  had  failed  him,  and  in  his 
soul  was  born  a  grim  resolve  that  somehow,  some  time,  he 
would  get  even. 

In  this  spirit  on  Tuesday  evening  he  entered  the  great 
Morland  house  and  was  shown  through  darkened  halls  to 
the  cheery  little  morning-room.  After  some  time  Lucille 
appeared,  smiling  cordially.  She  was  exquisitely  dressed, 
and  Tom  was  struck  by  her  high  bred  beauty. 

"Father  had  to  attend  a  business  dinner,"  she  an- 
nounced, "and  so  I'm  afraid  vou  are  doomed  to  a  dull 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  135 

evening  alone  with  me."  Her  voice  was  apologetic,  but 
her  look  belied  her  words. 

The  elderly  caretaker,  acting  this  evening  as  butler, 
entered  then  with  cocktails  and  led  the  way  to  a  chai'ming 
little  table  set  in  the  breakfast-room.  Sherry,  and  after- 
ward champag-ne,  were  served. 

In  common  with  so  many  American  boys  who  served 
abroad,  Tom  had  learned  to  drink. 

And  as  the  little  dinner  party  of  two  relaxed  in  for- 
mality imder  the  inspiriting  influence  of  the  wine, 
through  Tom's  glowing  thoughts  came  leaping  the  words 
of  Harry  Ell  gate 's  letter :  ' '  You  may  go  far  with  her. . . . 
Give  her  a  little  kiss  for  me." 


■~-^<"<i/^Tl/*'^tf/«^  - 


It  was  after  midnight  when  Tom  Wiclvham  left  the 
Morland  mansion. 

Lucille  had  opened  the  front  door  softly  and  let  him 
out  of  the  silent  house.  As  he  walked  away  he  looked 
back  at  the  imposing  pile  and  tried  to  convince  himself 
that  he  was  awake  and  that  the  events  of  the  evening  had 
not  been  part  of  a  dream.  The  warmth  of  her  good-night 
kiss  was  still  in  his  blood. 

"Am  I  dreaming?"  he  reflected  over  and  over  on  his 
way  toward  the  car  line  that  would  take  him  back  to  his 
modest  room  on  its  imfashionable  street. 

His  mind  was  whirling  as  he  tried  to  piece  together 
the  memories  of  the  hours  that  he  and  she  had  been  alone 
together.  The  dinner  with  its  plentiful  garniture  of 
wine,  the  little  morning-room  with  its  dimmed  lights  and 


137 


138  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

the  dancing  flames  in  the  fireplace,  the  confidence,  born 
of  Harry  Ellgate's  letter,  with  which  he  had  taken  her 
hand,  the  startled  surprise  in  her  eyes,  and  then  the  com- 
plete surrender  to  his  embraces ! 

"I'm  dreaming!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  couldn't  have 
happened!" 

He  remembered  the  sound  of  the  automobile  which 
stopped  before  the  house,  and  the  turning  of  the  key  in 
the  door  when  her  father  came  in — it  must  have  been  ten 
o'clock — and  her  whispered  caution  for  silence  until  the 
great  house  was  all  quiet  again. 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  when  Tom  let  himself  in  at 
Mrs.  Johnson's  door,  and  Sadie  Johnson,  wakeful  on  her 
pillow,  heard  his  steps  gropingly  pass  her  door.  She 
wondered  where  he  had  been,  and  she  wondered  why  he 
had  rather  awkwardly  withheld  from  her  the  purpose 
that  led  him  to  dress  with  such  care  hours  before.  She 
was  miserably  unhappy.  It  threw  her  into  a  fresh  fit  of 
coughing. 

If  Sadie  Johnson  tossed  uneasily  on  her  bed,  there  was 
another  who  did  the  same,  though  in  vastly  different  sur- 
roundings. 

Lucille  Morland  went  to  her  room  quietly.  She  turned 
on  the  lights  and  sat  for  a  long  time  gazing  into  the  mirror 
of  her  dressing-table. 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  139 

"You're  crazy!  You're  perfectly  crazy!"  she  mut- 
tered as  she  studied  the  gray  eyes,  now  shining  with  a 
light  which  she  had  never  before  seen  in  them.  Her 
cheeks  were  glowing,  and  as  she  looked  at  her  hair,  awry 
in  its  disorder,  a  smile  with  a  suspicion  of  softness  bright- 
ened her  face. 

"I  don't  care!"  she  exclaimed  recklessly.  "It  has 
been  heavenly,  and  whether  he  is  chauffeur,  tramp,  hero, 
or  prince  in  disguise,  he  has  stirred  me  more  than  I've 
ever  been  stirred  in  my  life.  It  is  worth  all  the  humilia- 
tion I  shall  feel  to-morrow  and  for  days  to  come." 

She  began  to  take  down  her  hair,  her  hands  flashing 
in  and  out  of  the  long  strands  as  they  were  woven  into 
braids.  Occasionally  she  would  pause  to  look  question- 
ingly  into  the  eyes  in  the  mirror.  Sometimes  she  smiled, 
and  sometimes  her  lips  tightened,  but  she  proceeded  delib- 
erately, for  to-morrow  she  could  sleep  late. 

"I  wonder  what  he  is  thinking  of  me,"  she  mused, 
"I  wonder  if  this  brash  young  man  realizes  that  he  is  the 
first  man  I  have  ever  really  kissed.  Probably  not,"  she 
reflected  bitterly.  "He  must  have  thought  me  easy 
beyond  words.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  how  he 
dared,  and  why  I  let  him,  and,  above  all,  why,  instead  of 
regret,  I  am  now  feeling  so  disgustingly  happy. ' ' 

Sleep  came  tardily  to  Miss  Morland. 


140  THE    RESTLESS    A.GE 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  awake,  staring  into  the  dark- 
ness. She  reflected  upon  the  more  or  less  kindly  Fates 
which  had  showered  their  gifts  in  prodigal  profusion 
upon  her,  but  had  withheld  the  one  thing  she  most  wanted. 
She  had  wanted  to  fall  in  love,  whole-heartedly  and  unre- 
servedly, to  be  swept  off  her  feet  by  the  kind  of  overpow- 
ering passion  one  reads  about  in  books. 

She  had  tried  to  imagine  herself  in  love  with  young 
men  of  her  own  set  with  whom  marriage  would  be  widely 
acclaimed  as  ideal.  But  in  the  broad  daylight  analysis 
she  knew  these  emotions  were  counterfeit.  They  had 
failed  to  awaken  within  her  that  response  which  she 
would  recognize  as  genuine  if  it  ever  really  came. 

And  now,  she  reflected,  the  Fates  had  played  another 
of  their  capricious  tricks  on  her. 

Was  she  to  find  that  the  only  man  who  could  stir  her 
heart  was  one  whose  name  and  position  she  could  not  by 
the  wildest  fancy  see  coupled  with  hers  in  the  announce- 
ment columns  of  the  fashionable  society  journals  ? 


— ><*Sa-7SME»r"^ 


It  was  late  when  Lucille  Morland  awakened  the  fol- 
lowing morning. 

She  lay  for  a  long  time  thinking,  reviewing,  step  by- 
step,  the  events  of  the  night  before  and  lingering  long 
upon  those  which  made  her  pulse  quicken  and  her  cheeks 
flame  with  a  strange  elation. 

Her  heart  was  singing  with  the  kind  of  happiness  she 
had  not  felt  since  those  girlhood  days  when  her  soul  was 
just  awakening  to  new  and  romantic  emotions.  She 
smiled. 

"Well,  it's  refreshing  to  find  that  I'm  not  immune," 
she  thought.  "That's  something  to  be  thankful  for,  any- 
way, however  much  of  a  mess  I  may  be  letting  myself  in 
for.  Playing  with  fire  may  be  dangerous,  but  it  does 
warm  one  up  most  thoroughly." 

Finally  she  rang  the  bell,  which  soon  brought  the  old 
caretaker's  wife  with  the  breakfast  tray. 


141 


142  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

"Any  telephone  messages  this  morning,  Sophie?"  she 
asked  with  an  effort  at  indifference. 

"No,  Miss  Lncille,"  answered  Sophie,  and  Lucille  was 
^^  conscious  of  a  sudden  pang  of  disappointment. 

She  hadn't  expected  a  message,  but  she  had  hoped  for 
one  just  the  same.  Under  the  circumstances  it  would  be 
only  the  polite  thing  to  do.  And  yet,  why  should  she 
expect  one  of  his  social  limitations  to  think  of  doing  the 
polite  thing? 

"There's  a  box  of  flowers  for  you.  Miss  Lucille." 
Sophie's  next  remark  startled  her.  It  seemed  a  direct 
answer  to  her  thoughts. 

So  he  had  thought  of  her,  after  all !  She  was  surprised 
to  find  how  pleased  she  was,  unless 

Her  brow  contracted  in  a  slight  frown.  She  began  to 
look  for  motives  which  her  experience  with  designing  for- 
tune-hunters led  her  to  expect  in  every  man  who  centered 
his  attention  upon  her.  Wealth  had  made  her  suspicious 
and  distrustful. 

"He's  following  it  right  up,"  she  thought  cynically. 
"He's  probably  like  all  the  rest,  and  I  suppose  at  this 
moment  he  is  picturing  himself  marching  down  the  aisle 
with  me." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  her  eyes  hardened. 

"  I  'd  better  end  it  now.    I  '11  not  see  him  an v  more.    I  '11 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  143 

leave  town  at  once  and  avoid  getting  in  any  deeper. ' '  Her 
eyes  softened  a  bit.  "But  he  was  nice,  and  I'm  afraid  I 
shan't  forget  quickly.  It's  a  pity  he  isn't  some  one — one 
Jmoivs.  I'll  drop  him  a  nice  little  good-by  note,  and 
soften  the  blow." 

She  untied  the  box  of  roses  and  tore  open  the  card. 

As  she  read,  the  world  seemed  to  collapse  about  her. 
All  the  sunshine  faded  out,  and  her  eyes  brimmed  with 
tears. 

She  could  hardly  believe  her  senses. 

He  was  ending  it !  He  was  lightly  giving  up  what  so 
many  others  had  vainly  sought. 

She  read  again  the  swinnning  words : 

"You  were  very  nice  last  night,  and  I  shall  never 
forget.  "Won't  you  let  these  flowers  say  a  little  of  what 
I  haven't  the  words  to  express  ?  I  shall  always  remember 
the  evening  as  a  treasured  episode,  for  I  am  sure  you 
mean  me  to  regard  it  as  an  episode  that  had  its  happy 
beginning  and  happy  ending  last  night.  And  I'm  sure 
you  will  be  relieved  to  know  that  what  I  am  trying 
clumsily  to  do  is  to  say  good-by  and  to  spare  you  the  pain 
of  having  to  do  it." 

She  left  her  breakfast  untouched.  Never  had  she 
suffered  such  a  hurt  befoi-e.     Althoiigh  she  had  in  her 


144  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

time  mercilessly  dropped  many  men,  slie  had  never  been 
dropped  herself.  It  was  a  new  and  painful  experience, 
and  it  cut  her  to  the  quick. 

Her  one  thought  now  was  to  get  him  back,  and  in  her 
eagerness  she  forgot  to  follow  the  old  established  lines  of 
feminine  strategy,  one  of  which  is  to  let  the  man  do  the 
pursuing. 

It  was  not  characteristic  of  Miss  Morland  to  overlook 
the  rules  of  the  game.  Usually  she  played  with  a  clear 
and  calculating  head,  unhampered  by  emotions  of  the 
heart. 

But  now  it  was  different.  Her  emotions  had  been 
sounded  to  their  depths,  and  she  lost  her  head. 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  He  would  be  in  the  office  at 
this  hour.  So  she  called  the  number  of  Henry  Morland 
&  Company  and  asked  for  Mr.  Wickham. 

There  was  a  delay  until  Tom,  still  new  in  the  office, 
was  located.  "Here,  Wickham,"  said  one  of  the  officers, 
on  whose  desk  was  a  telephone,  "a  call  for  you."  He 
spoke  grouchily,  telej)hone  calls  from  ladies  during  work- 
ing hours  being  generally  considered  a  nuisance. 

Tom  took  the  instrument.  No  one  had  ever  called  him 
there  before. 

*'I  must  see  you  to-night,"  said  Lucille. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shoixldn't  come  again,"  he  answered  in 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  145 

a  low  voice,  and  he  observed  the  officer  at  the  desk  glance 
up  sharply. 

It  was  painfully  awkward.  He  couldn't  ring  off  with- 
out being  offensively  discourteous,  and  yet  to  every 
demur  came  a  flood  of  insisting  words. 

He  was  conscious  that  a  number  of  the  men  were  now 
regarding  him  with  amusement.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
been  talking  for  hours.  His  face  was  burning,  and  he 
felt  the  cold  disapproving  eye  of  the  officer  boring  into 
him. 

At  last,  in  despair,  he  said  he  would  come. 

" Come  after  dinner — at  nine  sharp.  Don't  ring.  I'U 
open  the  door  for  you." 


After  dining  alone,  Miss  Morland  told  Herman,  the 
old  caretaker,  that  he  need  not  wait  up.  Her  gown,  a 
graceful,  filmy  house  dress,  indicated  to  him  that  she 
would  remain  home. 

She  then  spent  many  more  careful  moments  before  her 
mirror.  She  was  looking  her  best,  and  nervous  eagerness 
had  brought  a  becoming  color  to  her  cheeks. 

Just  before  nine  o'clock  she  softly  descended  the 
stairs,  moved  noiselessly  through  the  darkened  halls,  and 
awaited  at  the  great  front  door. 

Promptly  at  nine  she  opened  the  door  for  Tom  Wick- 
ham,  and,  motioning  him  to  be  silent,  she  gently  closed 
the  door  and  led  him  down  to  the  little  morning-room 
where  they  had  been  the  evening  before. 

She  turned  on  a  light  and,  listening  at  the  door,  she 
assured  herself  that  old  Herman  and  Sophie  had  retired 


147 


148  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

to  their  remote  quarters.  She  then  lighted  the  fire,  and 
its  cheery  glow  was  soon  suffusing  the  room. 

Tom  watched  her  with  a  grave  face.  Thus  far  not  a 
word  had  been  spoken.  Then  she  turned  suddenly  to  him 
and,  placing  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  looked  intently 
up  into  his  eyes. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  are  you  thinking?" 

He  hesitated. 

"Don't  you  want  to  tell  me?" 

"I  was  thinking  I  shouldn't  have  come  to-night,"  he 
said  seriously. 

"Not  even  if  I  wanted  you  to  come  ?" 

"No,  not  even  then." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me  ?" 

"I  resolved  not  to,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "unless — " 

"Unless  what?" 

"Unless  I  can't  help  it." 

She  smiled  confidently. 

"You're  a  fimny  boy.  Come,  sit  down  here,  and  tell 
me  why  you  don 't  like  me.    Am  I  so  terrible  ? ' ' 

"You  are  fascinating,"  he  answered. 

"Now  you're  dodging  the  question.  I  don't  want  to 
be  called  fascinating.    I  want  to  know  why  you  don't  like 


me." 


"But  I  haven't  said  I  don't  like  you." 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  149 

"No,  not  in  so  many  words,  but,  remember,  I  had  to 
plead  to  get  you  to  come  to-night.  I've  never  done  that 
before.    A^Tiy  didn  't  you  want  to  come  ? ' ' 

He  stared  into  the  fire  for  a  long  time.  Then  in  a  low 
voice  he  spoke. 

"There's  no  reason  why  you  should  be  nice  to  me.  Miss 
Morland.  I  can  see  only  one  possible  reason  and  that  is 
that  you  are  bored  and  perhaps  find  me  diverting  as  a 
momentary  pastime.  You  don't  care  for  me — you  can't. 
And  why  should  you?  I'm  not  complaining,  and  I 
should  be  dishonest  if  I  told  you  I  cared  for  you — deeply, 
I  mean." 

"Then  you  don't?"  she  said  in  a  curiously  constrained 
voice. 

"Is  it  likely  that  I  should  when  I  think  you  are  merely 
amusing  yourself?" 

"But  how  do  you  know  I  am  just  amusing  myself,  as 
you  call  it?    Aren't  there  plenty  of  others  available?" 

"That's  what  I  can't  understand." 

She  looked  at  him  intently  as  she  asked  the  next  ques- 
tion. 

"Do  you  care  for  some  one  else?" 

"Yes,  I  always  have — back  as  far  as  I  can  remember." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Both  were  solemnly  gazing 
into  the  flames. 


150  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"Is  she  mce?" 

"Yes — she's  very  nice." 

"Have  you  ever — kissed  her?"  she  asked  in  a  voice 
barely  above  a  whisper. 

"No,  not  since  we  were  children." 

Quite  suddenly  Miss  Morland  burst  into  sobs  and 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillows.  After  a  moment  he  sought 
to  soothe  her  by  smoothing  her  hair.  He  was  miserably 
upset.  The  more  he  endeavored  to  console  her  the  more 
bitter  became  her  convulsive  sobs.  He  kissed  her  hair 
and  then  found  both  her  arms  violently  about  his  neck. 

It  was  two  when  the  little  clock  on  the  mantel,  after 
sounding  hour  after  hour,  was  at  last  successful  in  making 
itself  heard. 

"Good  heavens!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  didn't  dream  it 
was  so  late.    I  must  go." 

Her  eyes  were  misty  with  happiness. 

She  turned  out  the  light  and  led  him  to  the  front  door. 

"Please  telephone  me  to-morrow  morning — surely," 
she  said  as  she  turned  the  knob. 

As  the  great  door  swung  open,  a  violent  clanging  of 
bells  sounded  through  the  house. 

"Oh,  mercy!"  she  gasped.  "Herman  set  the  burglar 
alarm!  Hurry!  Don't  wait!  Rim!"  and,  pushing  hmi 
out,  she  fled  up  the  stairs  to  her  room. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  151 

From  tlie  darkened  window  she  was  horrified  to  see 
Tom  with  the  hand  of  a  night  watchman  on  his  arm. 

An  impulse  to  open  the  window  and  assure  the  officer 
that  it  was  all  right,  that  Tom  was  a  caller  and  not  a 
burglar,  was  stifled  by  the  thought  that  she  would  be 
involved.    It  was  so  shockingly  late. 

Then  she  saw  Tom  whirl  suddenly — a  football  player's 
trick — kii'ch  against  the  watchman,  and  saw  the  latter  fall 
heavily.  Tom  sprang  away  and  the  watchman,  rising  on 
his  elbow,  fired  two  shots  at  him,  the  effect  of  which  she 
could  not  see. 

"Oh,  heavens!"  she  gasped.  "How  perfectly 
terrible ! ' ' 


■  '^^tZfi&n  — 


It  was  a  hideous  nightmare  for  Miss  Morland,  except 
that  she  knew  she  was  awake  and  not  dreaming. 

After  the  clanging  of  the  burglar  alarm  and  the  two 
shots  she  listened  in  dread  to  the  opening  of  windows  in 
neighboring  houses  and  the  hurry  of  footsteps  on  the 
sidewalk  and  excited  voices. 

Summoning  all  her  strength,  she  opened  her  door 
upon  the  now  brilliantly  lighted  house  and  called  out. 

"Herman,  Herman,  what  is  the  matter?" 

*'The  burglar  alaim,  miss.  I  guess  somebody's  been 
tryin'  to  break  in." 

From  down  the  street  came  the  clang  of  the  police 
patrol,  and  a  moment  later  a  cordon  of  officers  with 
drawn  revolvers  was  encircling  the  house. 

After  a  long  time  the  old  caretaker  tapped  on  Lucille 's 
door. 


153 


154  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"Don't  worry,  Miss  Lucille.  We've  searched  the 
whole  house  and  found  nobody.  I  guess  the  alarm  scared 
'em  away." 

But  there  was  no  sleep  for  Miss  Morlaud.  Uppermost 
in  her  mind  was  the  dread  of  being  iuA'olved,  but  in  the 
background  was  a  persistent  fear  for  what  had  happened 
to  Tom. 

She  assumed,  and  rightly,  that  he,  leaving  her  dark- 
ened house  so  late,  could  not  explain  his  presence  at  that 
hour  without  compromising  her,  and,  rather  than  risk 
this,  had  toppled  over  the  night  watchman  and  fled.  It 
pleased  Lucille  to  think  he  had  acted  the  gentleman  for 
her  sake,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  killed. 

But  when  morning  came  the  fear  of  being  involved 
restrained  her  from  inquiring  about  him.  Her  one 
thought  was  to  get  away  as  quickl}^  as  possible — to  put 
miles  and  miles  between  her  and  the  chance  of  unpleasant 
publicity.  ^ 

As  the  morning  passed,  and  no  message  came  from 
Tom,  her  fears  became  more  intense.  Suppose  he  had 
been  mortally  wounded,  or  captiired;  and,  if  the  latter, 
would  be  be  subjected  to  the  third  degree  until  he  con- 
fessed why  he  was  leaving  the  darkened  Morland  house 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning?  She  shuddered  at  the 
thought,  and  hastened  her  preparations  for  departure. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  155 

At  two-thirty  heavily  veiled,  she  started  for  her  sum- 
mer home  ignorant  of  what  had  happened  to  Tom  and 
moved  by  one  impulse — to  save  herself  from  possible 
annoyance  and  embarrassment. 

The  early  afternoon  papers  contained  accounts  of  the 
shooting.  Liquor  thieves  were  suspected,  but  the  most 
popular  police  theory  was  that  it  had  been  a  frustrated 
Red  plot  to  blow  up  Mr.  Morland,  because  of  his  huge  war 
profits  obtained  by  speculating  in  foodstuffs.  Some  days 
before,  a  radical  daily  had  charged  him  rather  ma- 
lignantly with  having  doubled  his  fortune  during  the 
war. 

The  night  watchman,  interviewed,  described  his  assail- 
ant as  a  powerful  young  man,  heavily  armed,  who  had 
attempted  to  kill  him.  He  himself  had  fired  two  shots, 
but  didn't  know  whether  either  had  taken  effect. 

What  the  newspapers  did  not  print  was  how  Tom 
Wickham,  shot  through  the  left  shoulder,  made  his  way 
to  his  room,  and  with  the  knowledge  of  surgical  dressing 
gained  in  the  war  and  the  little  first-aid  kit  he  always 
kept,  cleaned  and  bandaged  the  wound  as  best  he  could. 

He  dared  not  go  to  a  doctor,  for  that  would  necessitate 
explanations,  or  else  lead  to  his  arrest  and  a  possible 
third-degree  inquisition. 

Sadie  Johnson  heard  him  come  in,  and  heard  him 


156  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

moving  about  for  some  time  afterward.    She  fancied  she 
caught  the  faint,  penetrating  odor  of  antiseptics. 

When  Mrs.  Johnson  tapped  on  his  door  at  the  usual 
hour  Tom  called  out  that  he  was  not  feeling  well,  and 
requested  her  to  ask  Sadie  to  telephone  the  office  from 
the  drug  store  that  he  would  not  be  down. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

"No,  thank  you.    I'll  be  all  right  after  a  while." 

Sadie  went  to  her  work  at  the  Alert  Garage,  her  quick 
mind  entirely  preoccixpied  with  speculation.  It  was  very 
mysterious.  But  it  was  not  until  she  saw  the  account  of 
the  shooting  at  the  Morland  house  that  her  conclusions 
began  to  take  form.  She  folded  up  the  papers  and  took 
them  home. 

Her  mother  was  bringing  Tom  his  supper.  He  was 
sitting  up  in  bed,  and  did  not  look  ill, 

"Here's  something  that  may  interest  you,"  she  said, 
handing  him  the  papers.  He  started  and  looked  at  her 
queerly.    She  smiled. 

"Interesting  story,  isn't  it?"  she  commented,  and 
observed  how  stiffly  he  held  his  left  arm.  ' '  He  must  have 
been  a  terrible  person,  that  big,  burly  burglar ! " 

The  significance  of  her  tone  did  not  escape  Tom.  He 
grinned. 

"You're  pretty  smart,  Sadie.    Would  you  mind  doing 


THE     RESTLESS     AGE  157 

something  for  me  ?  Please  telephone  Miss  Morland  that 
I  'm  all  right,  but  that  I  '11  have  to  stick  around  the  house 
for  a  day  or  two." 

"I'll  tell  her  you  have  a  cold  in  your  shoulder,"  she 
laughed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  from  the  drug 
store  with  the  news  that  Miss  Morland  had  departed, 
destination  unknown,  and  left  no  word  for  anybody. 

Tom's  face  clouded,  and  Sadie  misconstrued  the  look. 

"He's  awfully  in  love  with  her,"  she  thought. 


■ —   /t<*^n^£e//  ' 


Sadie  Johnson  asked  no  questions.  She  dressed  the 
bullet  wound  in  Tom  Wickham's  shoulder  and  cheered 
him  up  with  sprightly  accounts  of  the  day's  happenings 
at  the  Alert  Garage. 

He  spent  the  days  in  the  easy  chair  by  his  window, 
thankful  that  the  critical  third  day  had  passed  without 
the  development  of  fever. 

Down  at  the  great  firm  of  Morland  &  Company,  the 
office  force  received  with  varying  comments  the  news 
that  he  was  laid  up. 

The  cjTiical  attributed  his  "indisposition"  to  an 
attack  of  some  particularly  deadly  "home  brew,"  while 
the  evil-minded  thought  he  had  gotten  snarled  up  with  a 
"vamp."  One  man,  recalling  Tom's  long  and  embarrass- 
ing telephone  conversation  a  few  days  before,  shared  the 
latter  view,  although  he  would  have  been  shocked  out  of  a 
year's  growth  had  he  known  the  identity  of  the  lady.    To 


159 


160  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

him  the  daughter  of  Henry  Morland  was  one  who  lived 
on  the  unattainable  heights  of  a  different  world. 

During  the  time  while  Sadie  was  away  at  work  Tom 
had  many  dragging  hours  in  which  to  review  the  events 
leading  up  to  the  present. 

He  was  angry  at  LuciDe  Morland 's  selfishness — run- 
ning away  without  an  apparent  thought  of  what  might 
have  happened  to  him.  She  could  not  have  failed  to  hear 
the  shots.  Under  no  circumstances  could  he  imagine 
Emily  Harbridge  showing  so  little  feeling,  or  Sadie 
Johnson,  either. 

He  was  angry  at  Henry  Morland,  too.  He  had  not 
before  realized  the  nature  of  Mr.  Morland 's  business,  or 
at  least  it  had  never  before  been  presented  to  him  in  quite 
the  same  light. 

The  newspaper  references  to  Morland 's  vast  war 
profits  in  foodstuffs  brought  him  into  direct  comparison 
with  the  difficult  condition  of  Tom's  own  father,  who 
raised  the  food. 

There  was  something  radically  wrong,  Tom  decided, 
in  the  distribution  of  earned  reward  when  the  farmer  who 
slaved  long  weeks  and  months,  gambling  with  fickle 
weather  while  raising  the  grain,  should  receive  so  much 
less  than  the  speculator  who  traded  in  it. 

And  yet  the  consuming  public  was  paying  in  many 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  161 

cases,  far  more  than  the  goods  were  worth,  even  allowing 
a  generous  profit  to  both  producer  and  middleman. 

He  was  not  certain  he  wanted  to  continue  in  the 
employ  of  Henry  Morland.  He  remembered  the  excite- 
ment in  the  office  when  Mr.  Morland,  in  a  tremendous 
bear  campaign,  had  hammered  down  the  price  of  corn  to 
the  lowest  price  in  three  years.  The  farmers  had  suf- 
fered, the  consumers  had  not  benefited,  but  Mr.  Morland 
had  profited  enormously. 

In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  his  father  working  under 
great  difficulties,  with  insufficient  help,  winter  and  sum- 
mer, at  the  mercy  of  droughts  and  rains,  producing  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow  the  necessities  of  life,  and  then  he  saw 
Mr.  Morland  garnering  the  fruits  of  those  labors. 

In  these  brooding  hours  Tom  found  a  mournful  pleas- 
ure in  thinking  of  home  and  of  what  thej^  were  doing 
down  there. 

What  a  mess  he  had  made  of  things  in  the  city !  And, 
beneath  the  tinsel  of  city  gaiety,  what  disillusionments ! 
Selfishness,  greed,  ostentation,  duplicity,  cutthroat  busi- 
ness methods,  crafty  evasions  of  the  law,  crime  flourish- 
ing in  the  face  of  official  complacence  or  connivance ! 

In  Tom's  frame  of  mind,  the  farm,  with  all  its  hard 
work,  seemed  glorified  in  comparison  and  the  farmer  who 
creates  useful  wealth  from  the  ground  gained  a  new  dig- 


162  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

uity  as  the  one  upon  whom  the  whole  workl  depends  foi*- 
life  and  pleasure.  Without  him,  the  whole  elaborate 
structure  of  society  and  commerce  and  law  would  crash 
down  in  a  single  year,  humanity  would  strip  off  its  veneer 
of  civilization,  and  the  world  would  revert  to  the  chaos 
of  barbarism. 

And  yet  he  had  heard  city  people  speak  contemptu- 
ously of  the  ''yaps"  from  the  tall  grass! 

From  his  suit-case  Tom  took  out  a  picture  of  Emily 
Harbridge  and  gazed  long  into  the  frank  clear  eyes.  How 
different  she  was  from  Lucille  Morland,  and  how  infi- 
nitely finer ! 

He  placed  the  picture  on  the  dresser,  where  Sadie 
Johnson  seeing  it  later,  thought  it  was  the  picture  of 
Lucille  Morland,  but  oh,  so  very  much  nicer-looking  than 
the  frequent  newspaper  pictures  had  revealed  her.  It 
confirmed  Sadie's  conviction  that  Tom  was  deeply  in  love 
with  Miss  Morland. 

Her  mistake  was  destined  to  have  unwelcome  con- 
sequences. 

As  Tom  looked  at  the  picture  he  gave  himself  up  to 
melancholy  reflections. 

"I  wonder  if  Emily  ever  gives  me  a  thought  any  more. 
Goodness  knows  I  don't  deserve  it,  for  I've  been  a  miser- 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  163 

able  correspondent."  He  smiled  bitterly.  "But  then,  I 
haven't  had  much  that  was  cheerful  to  write  about." 

And  then  his  mother's  comments  about  Emily  and 
Harry  came  back  to  him. 

Harry  was  sticking  it  out  down  there  longer  than 
seemed  humanly  possible — for  Harry.  Several  months 
of  close  association  with  him  in  France  had  shown  the 
fundamental  weakness  of  his  character. 

Tom  would  have  wondered  less  could  he  have  seen 
Harry  at  that  moment,  seated  on  the  Harbridge  veranda 
with  Emily,  whose  grave  eyes  were  turned  away  as  Harry 
talked  in  a  low  voice  at  her  side. 


^/'dCuTlM^''  - 


Matches  are  made  in  heaven  or  in  haste. 

The  Fates,  which,  in  their  more  or  less  infinite  wis- 
dom, decree  who  is  to  marry  whom,  were  making  a  sad 
mess  of  it  in  the  case  of  Tom  Wickman  and  Emily 
Harbridge. 

Circumstances  were  sweeping  both  of  them  closer  and 
closer  to  people  they  did  not  love  and  had  no  desire  to 
marry. 

While  Tom  in  the  city  was  brooding  over  his  affairs, 
Emily  in  the  country  was  having  her  own  difficult 
problems. 

"Do  you  know,"  Harry  Ellgate  was  saying,  "I'm 
afraid  our  friend  Tom  is  finding  the  world  very  pleasant 
since  he  fell  in  with  Lucille  JMorland.    She's " 

"Please,  Harry,  1  don't  want  to  hear  about  her," 
Emily  interrupted,  and  then  added  hastily:  "Goodness 
knows  I'm  sure  I  hope  he  is  enjoying  himself,  wherever 
he  is!" 

165 


166  THE    EESTLESS    AGE 

"It  would  be  a  good  match,"  calmly  continued  Harry, 
lighting  a  cigarette.  "I  can't  say  she  appeals  to  me,  but 
she  is  beautiful  and  has  oodles  of  money." 

Emily  said  nothing.  A  number  of  times  of  late  Harry 
had  referred  to  Tom  and  Miss  Morland,  and,  against  her 
will,  she  was  beginning  to  bracket  them  in  her  thoughts. 

She  arose  abruptly. 

"It's  time  to  go  to  the  rehearsal,"  she  said  in  a  tired 
voice.  "I  wish  the  dreadful  play  was  over  and — in  Hali- 
fax!" 

The  rehearsals  were  being  held  in  the  town  hall,  where 
the  play  was  to  be  given  a  few  daj^s  later.  Harry  had 
organized  a  dramatic  club  in  Grangefield,  and  for  some 
weeks  the  company  had  been  working  on  a  production  of 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer.  During  this  time  Harry  and 
Emily  had  been  thrown  together  a  good  deal,  much  to  the 
gloomy  resentment  of  Bud  Andrews. 

"I  haven't  the  ghost  of  a  show  with  her  myself," 
thought  Bud,  "but  I  sure  don't  want  to  see  her  tied  up  to 
this  bird  from  the  city.  I'd  prefer  to  hand  her  over  to 
Tom."  His  eyes  hardened.  "But  he  hasn't  got  her  yet. 
There's  a  certain  little  test  I'm  framing  up."  And  he 
smiled  a  canny  smile. 

Later  that  evening,  looking  out  into  the  moonlight 
from  her  bedroom  window,  Emily  railed  at  circumstance. 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  167 

Harry  Ellgate  had  iDroposed  again  this  evening  as  he  had 
done  at  every  suitable  opportunity  for  the  past  two  weeks. 

She  liked  him,  but  she  didn't  love  him.  No  one  could 
ever  take  the  place  Tom  had  held  in  her  heart  since  child- 
hood. 

But  Tom — ?  He  had  never  proposed.  And  even 
though  it  had  been  tacitly  understood  that  some  day  they 
would  be  married,  he  had  gone  away  almost  without  a 
word  and  had  written  only  a  few  vague,  friendly  letters 
since. 

Harry's  constant  insinuations  about  Lucille  Morland 
were  shaking  a  faith  which  she  had  believed  unshakable. 
It  was  quite  possible  that  Tom's  new-found  interests 
might  have  forced  her  into  the  background. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  might  be  waiting,  ashamed  to 
confess  that,  so  far  at  least,  he  had  not  made  a  success  of 
things. 

She  was  in  the  position  of  many  girls  who  approach 
that  difficult  ordeal  when  they  must  decide  whether  to 
marry  the  man  who  is  on  the  ground  and  eager,  or  wait 
for  a  dream  to  come  true.  It  would  be  tragic  should  the 
dream,  delayed  by  good  and  sufficient  reasons,  come  true 
too  late. 

And  yet  she  realized  that  every  girl  who  is  happil)' 
married  may  not  have  got  the  one  her  heai't  was  originally 


168  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

set  upon.  The  plodding  svutor  may  make  a  priceless  hus- 
band, and  the  fascinator  may  be  a  woeful  failure  in  the 
every-day  confines  of  matrimony. 

Harry  Ellgate  was  agreeable,  amusing,  and  consid- 
erate. Always  a  gentleman,  he  had  lived  down  the  handi- 
cap of  his  city  elegance  and  had  made  even  the  doubting 
ones  his  friends.  And  yet  Emily  had  an  intuitive  feeling 
that  he  lacked  a  certain  dependability.  There  was  a  fixed 
conviction  that  he  would  fail  under  a  crucial  test. 

If  the  test  never  came,  her  life  might  move  along 
evenly  enough,  without  any  very  high  or  very  low  spots; 
and  if  there  were  children,  she  would  probably  be  con- 
tented and  happy. 

And  the  town  considered  him  distinctly  eligible — with 
money,  education,  breeding.  His  work  as  a  farm  hand 
was  commonly  accepted  as  a  whim,  and  his  propinquitj'^ 
to  Emily  the  only  bond  that  held  him  to  it.  There  was 
much  siDcculation  about  Tom,  but  not  as  much  as  in 
Emily's  own  heart. 

If  she  could  only  see  him  again!  She  knew  her 
instinct  could  tell  her  unerringly  whether  or  not  he  had 
changed  toward  her.  And  the  Fates,  sitting  away  off 
some  place  minding  everybody 's  business,  must  have  read 
her  thoughts. 

Early  next  morning  a  frantic  voice  reached  her  on  the 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  169 

telephone.  "Emilj-,  you've  got  to  go  up  to  town  to  see 
about  Tillie  Randall's  costume.  She  can't  leave  her 
mother,  and  the  costume  is  impossible.  Built  for  an 
elephant!    You're  the  only  one  who  can  help." 

Emily  consented  with  a  joyous  eagerness  in  her  heart 
that  spoke  volmnes  to  her  head. 

It  gave  her  the  excuse  to  go  without  the  sacrifice  of 
pride. 


/<'*ti-/&*^iiv — 


The  morBing  mail  brought  Tom  Wickham  a  letter 
from  his  father : 


My  deak  son,  I  feel  it  is  unfair  to  conceal  from  you 
any  longer  the  way  things  are  running  here  on  the  farm. 
I  don't  want  to  worry  you  with  a  hard  luck  story,  but  the 
facts  are  serious. 

Either  you've  got  to  come  home  and  help  handle  the 
place  or  else  I've  got  to  sell  out.  There's  a  Polack  family 
that  wants  to  buy,  but  they  want  easy  terms  and  consid- 
erable time  to  pay.  They're  willing  to  work  hard,  the 
whole  family,  children  and  all,  while  the  boys  of  the  old 
American  families  get  filled  up  with  education  and  fancy 
ideas  and  want  to  go  to  the  cities.  Not  that  education 
isn^t  a  fine  thing — and  I  must  say  I  hate  to  see  small 
children  slaving — but  the  millennium  hasn't  arrived  and 
some  of  us  can't  have  everything. 

One  by  one  the  old  families  around  here  are  selling 
out  to  the  Polacks  and  are  now  living  off  their  incomes  in 
the  towns.  Of  course  that's  some  people's  idea  of 
Heaven,  but  I've  always  been  accustomed  to  lots  of  space 
around  me.    We're  getting  too  far  along,  your  mother 

171 


172  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

and  me,  to  take  readjustment  very  easily,  and  I  must  say 
I  don't  like  to  see  the  old  place  go  into  other  hands  if  it 
can  be  helped.  You  can't  live  on  sentiment,  but  some  of 
it's  good  to  have  around. 

This  last  summer  and  fall  have  been  mighty  dis- 
couraging. Corn  has  dropped  nearly  seventy  per  cent.; 
while  the  things  we  have  to  buy  have  come  down  only 
twenty-five  to  thirty  per  cent.  A  few  months  ago  thirty- 
three  bushels  of  corn  would  buy  a  suit  valued  at  sixty- 
five  dollars.  To-day,  if  clothing  had  dropped  as  much  as 
corn,  we  could  buy  that  same  suit  for  twenty  dollars  and 
fifty  cents.    That  illustrates  what  has  happened  to  us. 

What  help  I  can  get  still  wants  high  wages,  and  I 
tell  you  it's  hard  for  a  man  who  hasn't  a  big  family  to 
help  him  to  compete  with  these  frugal  and  industrious 
Polacks,  who  all  have  any  number  of  children  to  help  do 
the  work. 

And  another  thing  that  I  don't  like.  You  are  work- 
ing for  Henry  Morland.  I've  been  waiting  for  you  to 
find  out  for  yourself  the  connection  between  his  business 
and  mine.  Do  you  know  that  he  has  been  one  of  the  big- 
gest bears  in  grain  speculation  and  has  hammered  dovni 
the  price  of  corn  until  the  farmers  are  ready  to  mob  him  ? 
And  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  nobody  but  himself  bene- 
fits. That  is,  the  food  that  comes  from  the  grain  is  still 
unreasonably  high. 

Of  course  he's  not  wholly  to  blame  for  the  big  drop. 
The  big  crop  helped  bring  down  prices,  and  I  reckon  we'd 
have  been  better  off  financially  if  we'd  raised  only  half  a 
crop.    But  then  where  would  the  city  poor  be ! 

Now  there's  how  matters  stand,  Tom.  I  hope  you  will 
see  your  way  clear  to  coming  back  and  running  the  place. 
It  11  be  yours  one  of  these  days,  and  I  don't  mind  saying 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  173 

I'm  just  about  ready  to  quit.  Your  mother  has  been  ail- 
ing. '  She  misses  you  terribly,  but  she  hardly  ever  says 
anything.    We  both  send  love. 

Tom  read  the  letter  over  again,  and  then,  for  the  first 
since  his  accident,  left  the  house  for  the  offices  of  Henry 
IMorland. 

Mr.  Morland's  secretary  informed  him  it  would  be 
impossible  to  see  him.    However,  he  would  take  any  mes- 


sage  T 

"I'm  employed  here,"  said  Tom,  "perhaps  if  Austin 
Newell  said  a  word ?" 

"Oh,  you  know  Mr.  Newell?" 

"Yes,  we  were  together  in  France." 

"Just  a  moment,  please.  I  think  Mr.  Morland  will  see 
you." 

After  a  short  pause,  Tom  was  shown  into  the  paneled 
office  of  the  great  financier. 

"Well,  young  man,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  Mr.  Mor- 
land was  in  good  humor.  He  had  hammered  down  the 
price  of  corn  another  ten  cents  during  the  morning  ses- 
sion. 

"I  came  to  thank  you  for  giving  me  a  chance  here,  and 
secondly  to  resign. ' ' 

"Resign!  Why,  what 's  the  matter ?  Have  you  found 
something  better  than  this  ?    Or  don 't  you  like  the  work  ? ' ' 


174  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"The  work  is  all  right,  but  I  don't  like  the  business." 

Morland  sat  up,  his  face  lost  its  jocular  look  and  his 
eyes  hardened.  They  reminded  Tom  of  Lucille  Morland 's 
eyes  when  he  had  first  met  her.  He  reached  for  the  push 
button,  but  Tom's  next  words  arrested  his  action. 

"I  think  you're  in  a  rotten  business,  Mr.  Morland. 
My  father's  a  farmer  and  your  gambling  operations  are 
driving  him  to  the  wall.  I  don't  want  to  work  for  you 
anymore."  Tom  rose.  "That's  all,  Mr.  Morland.  Good 
morning." 

Mr,  Morland  stared  after  him  in  amazement.  He 
rubbed  his  hand  back  over  his  head  and  for  some  inex- 
plicable reason  he  felt  very  uncomfortable. 

"Deluded  fool!"  he  muttered  and  rang  for  his  secre- 
tary, 

"Strike  young  Wickham's  name  off  the  pay-roll!"  he 
ordered. 

In  the  meantime,  young  Wickham,  torn  by  conflicting 
emotions,  had  started  for  a  long  walk  in  the  park,  ignor- 
ant that  an  unopened  telegram  from  Emily  Harbridge 
was  awaiting  him  at  his  boarding-house. 


-/V'U'/ay/^v.-' 


Before  leaving  Grangefield  for  the  city  Emily  Har- 
bridge  telegraphed  Tom  Wiekham:  "Arriving  on  noon 
train  for  afternoon  only.  Hope  yon  can  meet  me. 
Emily." 

It  was  this  despatch  which  was  delivered  after  Tom 
had  left  his  boarding-house  to  interview  Henry  JNIorland, 
the  resnlt  of  which  had  been  his  resignation  from  the 
employ  of  that  gentleman.  Consequently  Emily  was  not 
met. 

During  the  whole  trip  she  had  pictured  her  arrival  and 
wondered  whether  his  greeting  would  confirm  her  fears 
or  dispel  them.  She  was  certain  her  instinct  would  tell 
her  whether  time  and  absence  had  weakened  the  old  bond 
between  them.  She  felt  that  the  whole  future  hung  upon 
the  impression  formed  during  the  first  few  minutes  of 
their  reunion.    And  he  did  not  meet  her ! 


175 


176  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

As  the  platform  cleared  this  fact  was  borne  in  upon 
her  consciousness,  and  she  grew  heartsick  with  disap- 
pointment.   What  did  it  mean  ?    Did  he  care  so  little  ? 

As  her  thoughts  flashed  back  in  review  of  the  years 
of  their  friendship  she  could  not  conceive  of  his  failing 
her  in  common  courtesy,  even  though  his  deeper  feeling 
might  have  undergone  a  change.  Her  telegram  must  have 
failed  to  reach  him.  There  was  but  one  course  to  follow. 
Even  at  the  risk  of  wounded  pride  she  must  give  him  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt  and  endeavor  to  get  in  touch  with 
him. 

Telephoning  Morland  &  Companj^  she  was  curtly 
informed  that  Mr.  Wickham  was  no  longer  in  their 
employ. 

"Do  you  know  where  I  can  get  him?"  she  asked. 

"No.    He  left  us  to-day." 

Somewhat  surprised  by  this  news,  Emily  hunted  in  the 
telephone  directory  for  Mrs.  Johnson's  number,  but  no 
number  was  listed.    She  could  not  telephone. 

In  deep  perplexity  she  sat  down  in  the  waiting-room 
to  think  things  over  calmly  and  clearly.  Either  she  must 
go  to  his  house  and  inquire  or  else  go  back  home  vithout 
having  settled,  once  for  all,  to  what  extent  in  future  she 
should  allow  herself  to  think  of  Tom  Wicldiam.  She 
decided  to  see  him,  if  possible. 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  177 

A  taxi  took  her  to  Mrs.  Johnson's  house,  and  Sadie, 
opening  the  door,  gazed  at  her  with  an  interest  unsus- 
pected by  Emily. 

"He  is  not  here,  now,  Miss  Morland,"  she  said,  and 
before  the  startled  Emily  could  interpose  a  correction 
Sadie  went  on  to  speak  of  a  wound. 

"To-day  is  the  first  day  he  has  been  out  since  he  was 
hurt." 

' '  Hurt ! ' '  exclaimed  Emily.    ' '  I  hadn  't  heard ' ' 

"No ;  the  first  thing  he  asked  was  that  I  let  you  know, 
but  when  I  called  up  you  had  gone.  He  wanted  me  to 
assure  you  he  was  not  badly  hurt." 

Emily's  thoughts  were  racing  in  bewildered  confu- 
sion, but  out  of  the  maze  arose  one  depressing  fact. 
^Vhen  Tom  was  in  distress  his  first  thought  had  been  of 
Lucille  Morland,  not  for  her.  What  else  mattered  1  She 
was  angry  and  hurt  and  jealous,  and  without  stopping  to 
correct  Sadie's  mistake  of  her  identity  she  invented  a 
hasty  excuse  and  fled  down  the  steps. 

When  Tom  returned,  about  five  o'clock,  he  found  the 
telegram.  His  first  thrill  of  happiness  was  swiftly  fol- 
lowed by  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  While  he  had  been  out 
walking  off  his  anger  Emily  had  come  and  gone.  Even 
now,  he  knew,  the  evening  train  was  probably  pulling  out. 
There  was  simply  nothing  to  be  done.    He  threw  himself 


178  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

helplessly  into  a  chair,  aud  there  Sadie  found  him  when 
she  came  in  shortly  after. 

She  greeted  him  cheerfully. 

"Your  friend,  Miss  Morland,  was  here  to-day." 

Tom  started  up. 

"Impossible!" 

But  Sadie's  report  of  the  visit  convinced  him. 

After  supper,  in  his  room,  Tom  read  and  re-read 
Emily's  telegram.  This  lost  opportunity  of  seeing  her 
brought  it  home  to  him  how  intensely  he  really  did  want 
to  see  her.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  never  wanted  an^'- 
thing  so  much  in  his  life.  And  here  it  had  been  Lucille 
Morland,  instead  of  Emily,  who  had  come  to  his  house. 
He  became  filled  with  a  sudden,  unreasoning  resentment 
against  Lucille.  "Why  in  the  world  should  she  be  pursuing 
him  again?  Hadn't  she  caused  him  enough  trouble 
already  ?  Nearly  all  his  recent  difficulties  could  be  traced 
directly  back  to  some  imjDulsive  whim  of  this  spoiled, 
selfish  girl— and  Tom  determined  to  end  things  definitely 
and  finally. 

In  this  mood  he  wrote  a  brief  note  to  Lucille  Mor- 
land, addressing  it  to  her  home. 

My  Dear  Feiend:  For  the  good  of  both  of  us  I  am 
sure  you  will  agree  with  me  that  we  should  not  see  each 
other  again.     Our  friendship — you  may  think  that  a 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  179 

mild  word  for  it — has  had  its  delightful  phases,  for  which 
I  am  grateful.  But  you  must  surely  realize  that  it  can 
never  be  dignified  by  a  stronger  term.  For  that  reason 
why  should  we  not  face  a  fact  which  we  both  know  to 
exist  ?  Please  agree  with  me,  and  know  that  this  good-by 
also  carries  my  sincerest  good  wishes  for  a  happy  life, 
imtroubled  by  further  association  with  me. 

"There!"  he  muttered.    "That  ought  to  finish  her!" 
He   then   wrote   to   Emily,   addressing   the   note  to 

Grangefield.    His  heart  sang  as  he  wrote  the  few  words. 

Reserve  was  broken  down  in  this  first  real  love-letter  to 

her. 

Dearest  :  I  am  broken-hearted  at  having  missed  you 
to-day,  and  I'm  coming  to  you  as  fast  as  I  can.  Expect 
me  surely  to-morrow  night.  Tom. 

That  night  he  slej^t  the  sleep  of  happiness,  blissfully 
ignorant  that  he  had  placed  the  letters  in  the  wrong 
envelopes. 


y*^'^<>  7c^£^ct4  - 


Emily  Haebridge  arrived  liome  on  tlie  evening  train. 
She  had  stared  unseeingly  out  of  the  window  during  the 
four-hour  trip  while  an  emotional  conflict  raged  within 
her. 

She  was  resentful,  bitter,  and  heartbroken. 

She  was  angry  at  having  exposed  herself  to  the  intense 
hurt  her  pride  had  sustained,  and  she  was  embittered  by 
the  thought  that  Tom  Wickham,  who  had  been  enshrined 
in  her  heai't  since  they  were  children  together,  was  appar- 
ently in  love  with  another. 

She  knew  she  could  never  feel  toward  any  one  else  as 
she  had  always  felt  toward  him,  and  gloomily  she  felt  that 
nothing  could  ever  deaden  the  pain  in  her  heart. 

Harry  Ellgate  met  her  at  the  station. 

"You're  very  quiet,"  he  said  as  he  drove  her  home. 

"I'm  tired,"  she  answered;  and  as  Harry  refrained 


]81 


182  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

from  asking  questions  slie  was  conscious  of  feeling  grate- 
ful to  him  for  his  consideration,  Harry  had  a  genius  for 
knowing  when  to  talk  and  when  not  to. 

"You  must  get  a  good  rest  to-night,"  he  said,  with 
tender  solicitude  in  his  voice,  "and  to-morrow  night  you'll 
make  a  tremendous  hit  in  your  part. ' ' 

The  following  evening  was  to  see  the  production  of 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  with  Emily  playing  the  part  of 
Kate  Hardcastle.  For  weeks  the  rehearsals  had  been 
going  on.  The  play  was  to  be  the  big  social  event  of  the 
season,  and  Grangefield  was  agog  with  anticipation. 

Emily  passed  an  unhapjjy  night.  Not  even  the 
inuninence  of  the  play  could  still  the  ache  inflicted  by 
what  she  considered  Tom's  inconstancy. 

In  the  morning  her  mother  asked  if  she  had  seen  Tom 
in  the  city.  Later  in  the  day  others  asked  the  same  ques- 
tion. To  all  she  simply  said  she  had  not  seen  him,  check- 
ing further  inquiry  by  abruptly  changing  the  subject. 

In  the  afternoon  there  were  final  rehearsals  of  certain 
difficult  parts,  and  when  at  last  she  went  home  to  snatch 
an  hour  or  two  of  rest  before  the  ordeal  of  the  evening  her 
mind  had  been  diverted  from  her  distress. 

It  was  then  that  she  found  on  her  bedroom  table  an 
envelope  addressed  in  Tom's  familiar  handwriting.  With 
quickened  pulse  and  a  sudden  foreboding  she  opened  it. 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  183 

"My  dear  friend:  For  the  good  of  both  of  us  I  am 
sure  you  will  agree  with  me  that  we  should  not  see  one 
another  again,"  and  so  on.  Wliat  a  cruel  letter!  How 
devoid  of  every  instinct  of  kindness !  Oh,  how  could  Tom 
have  written  her  in  this  heartless  style ! 

Poor  Emily!  Could  she  only  have  known  that  this 
was  not  the  letter  that  had  been  meant  for  that  envelope. 
But  she  didn't  know,  and  she  withered  under  this  death- 
blow to  her  hopes,  and,  more  than  that,  to  almost  all  the 
tenderness  she  had  felt  toward  Tom  Wickham. 

How  he  must  have  changed !  The  Tom  she  had  known 
would  never  have  inflicted  such  unnecessary  pain  on  one 
who  had  been  such  a  dear  friend,  to  say  the  least,  for  so 
many  years.  The  city  must  have  wrecked  the  sweetness 
in  his  nature.    Her  old  Tom  was  gone. 

She  felt  that  she  never  wished  to  see  him  again,  and 
in  the  first  blaze  of  resentment  she  tore  his  picture  into 
tiny  bits  and  then  flung  herself  weeping  on  her  pillow. 

She  arose  a  new  and  reckless  Emily.  It  didn't  matter 
what  happened.  If  Harry  still  wanted  her,  she  would 
say  yes.    It  might  as  well  be  Harry  as  any  one  else. 

In  this  mood,  with  reckless  gaiety  shining  in  her  eyes, 
she  prepared  for  the  play. 

Far  away  in  the  city  a  different  little  drama  was  being 
unfolded. 


184  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

Lucille  Morland,  back  from  lier  country  home,  was 
reading  over  and  over  a  very  surjjrising  note : 

Dearest:  I  am  broken-hearted  to  have  missed  you 
to-day,  and  I'm  coming  to  you  as  fast  as  I  can.  Expect 
me  surely  to-morrow  night.        Tom. 

It  was  not  entirely  clear  to  her  how  and  where  he  had 
missed  her.  He  must  have  called  at  her  house  during  the 
previous  day.  That  would  be  explained.  Meanwhile  here 
was  the  note,  postmarked  the  day  before,  so  he  must  be 
coming  to-night,  and  that  was  the  only  thing  that  mat- 
tered. She  made  no  attempt  to  disguise  the  eagerness  she 
felt. 

AVith  shameless  directness  she  proceeded  to  set  the 
stage  for  the  rare  combination,  that  most  alluring  of  all 
triangles — the  time,  the  place,  and  the  girl.  Then,  garbed 
in  her  most  beguiling  gown,  and  with  flaming  cheeks  and 
tingling  nerves,  she  awaited  his  arrival. 


Lucille  Morland,  eagerly  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
Tom  Wickham,  became  impatient  and  nervous  as  nine 
o'clock  api^roached. 

"What  in  the  world  is  keeping  him?"  For  an  hour 
she  had  been  posed  effectively,  in  her  most  alluring  gown, 
on  the  big  davenport  before  a  crackling  fire.  She  made  a 
pretty  picture,  and  she  knew  it.  He  could  not  fail  to  be 
impressed. 

And  he  had  already  kept  her  waiting  for  an  hour !  Her 
impatience  was  turning  to  irritation.  She  resolved  to 
teach  him  the  importance  of  promptness. 

The  door-bell  rang. 

"Bring  him  in  here,"  she  instructed  Herman  on  his 
way  to  the  door,  and  then  rearranged  herself  on  the 
davenport. 


185 


186  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

Her  heart  was  beating  madly,  and  she  knew  her  cheeks 
were  flaming  with  excitement.  Her  smile  was  of  the 
friendliest  as  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  doorway. 

It  was  Mr.  Morland  who  entered.  How  perfectly 
maddening ! 

"Father!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  I  thought  you  had 
gone!" 

"Didn't  have  to.  Got  a  telegram  at  the  last  minute. 
I  dined  at  the  club.    Must  have  left  my  keys  at  the  office. ' ' 

He  sat  down  in  a  big  easy  chair,  and  as  he  lighted  a 
cigar  in  preparation  for  a  comfortable  evening  his  daugh- 
ter's thoughts  were  whirling  in  a  panic  of  emotion.  What 
an  awkward  situation!  Any  moment  might  bring  Tom, 
and  there  would  have  to  be  explanations — a  beastly  mess 
of  things !  And,  besides,  the  effect  to  her  reception  would 
be  lost.  She  was  intensely  agitated,  so  much  so  that  her 
father  finally  sensed  it. 

"Were  you  expecting  some  one?    Shall  I  go?" 

"I  rather  expected  Mr.  Wickham.  You  know,  you 
thought  it  would  be  nice  to  ask  him  here  some  time." 

Mr.  Morland 's  eyes  lighted  up  with  a  sharp  glint, 
which  gradually  changed  to  one  of  humorous  enjo\mient. 

"I  shall  enjoy  meeting  the  young  man — again."  His 
daughter  caught  the  half  veiled  significance  of  his  tone. 

"What  do  you  mean,  father?" 


THE    EESTLESS    AGE  187 

"He  called  on  me  only  yesterday  to  tell  me  what  lie 
thought  of  me  and  my  business,  and  then  resigned  his 
job."  Mr.  Morland  smiled  amiably.  "As  nearly  as  I 
could  gather,  I'm  not  a  fit  person  for  him  to  work  for. 
He's  a  very  particular  young  man." 

"It's  incredible!"  exclaimed  Lucille.  "Was  he — was 
he  under  the  influence " 

"Nope.  Perfectly  sober,  but  fired  by  noble  ideals. 
He's  got  a  notion  that  I  helped  force  down  the  price  of 
corn.    And  his  father's  a  farmer,  you  know." 

Then  Mr.  Morland 's  voice  hardened. 

"Poor  fool !  There  are  a  lot  of  other  people  out  in  the 
country  who  think  the  same  way.  As  if  I,  or  anybody 
else,  could  have  any  influence  on  the  value  of  grain.  It's 
a  matter  of  supply  and  demand.  There's  been  a  big 
crop,  hence  the  fall.  But  you  can't  convince  the  farmer. 
He  thinks  prices  ought  to  stay  up  to  the  war  level." 

"But  you  have  been  bearing  the  market,  father." 

"Sure.  I  knew  the  prices  would  fall."  He  stared 
reflectively  into  the  fire  and  then  added :  "Besides,  even 
if  I  did  anything  to  lower  the  price  of  corn,  think  how 
many  people  were  benefited  by  it.  Think  of  the  lower 
prices  of  food  for  the  millions  in  the  cities.  If  they're 
cursing  me  in  the  coimtry,  they  ought  to  be  putting  up 
monuments  to  me  in  the  cities. " 


188  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Lucille  glanced  up  at  the 
clock,  and  she  know  that  Tom  Wickham  was  not  coming. 
Her  preparations  had  been  in  vain.  The  evening,  which 
had  promised  so  much,  had  flattened  out,  and  she  kissed 
her  father  on  his  bald  spot  and  went  to  her  room. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  over,"  she  thought.  "Another 
horrid  trick  of  Fate.  I  get  everything  in  the  world  except 
the  one  thing  I  want  most  of  all." 

She  was  painfully  conscious  of  her  depression  and 
disappointment.  In  vain  she  tried  to  reason  them  away. 
Over  and  over  she  repeated:  "I  don't  love  him.  I  don't 
love  him.  Why  should  I  allow  myself  to  feel  miserable  ? 
There  has  never  been  a  moment  when  I  couldn't  have 
tossed  him  over  without  a  pang.  I  could  never  marry 
him,  never — ^never!"  But  all  these  arguments,  directed 
by  her  reason,  failed  to  lessen  the  deep  hurt  that  rested  so 
heavily  upon  her  heart. 

"I  didn't  want  him  to  end  it.  I  wanted  to  end  it 
myself,  when  I  got  ready."  There  was  the  real  wound. 
And  it  rankled  and  pained  her  worse  than  any  she  had 
ever  before  suffered. 

"I'll  not  give  him  another  thought !"  she  cried,  but  she 
had  never  learned  that  real  heartache  is  beyond  the  cure 
of  will  and  reason  and  logic. 

She  slowly  removed  her  clothes,  the  attractive  gauzy 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  189 

things  she  had  chosen  so  carefully  for  the  occasion,  and, 
drawing  about  her  a  soft  dressing  gown,  sat  for  a  time 
thoughtfully  staring  at  nothing.  The  flush  had  left  her 
cheeks,  her  eyes  were  saddened,  and  her  face  looked  tired. 
That  night  her  pillow  was  drenched  with  the  first  real 
tears  she  had  shed  for  a  long,  long  tinie. 


Ai'^/^£'<'^ 


It  was  the  night  of  the  play  in  Grangefield.  There 
was  great  excitement  in  the  town,  a  sort  of  grown-up 
excitement  of  the  same  kind  that  children  feel  on  Christ- 
mas Eve. 

Long  before  eight  o  'clock  streams  of  people  were  con- 
verging toward  the  opera-house  and  the  country  roads 
were  alive  with  incoming  cars, 

"Some  crowd,  I'll  say,"  remarked  Bud  Andrews,  Ms 
eye  glued  to  the  peephole  in  the  curtain.  "Looks  like  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  a  caviar  sandwich.  If  they  expect  to 
crowd  any  more  in  here  they'll  have  to  let  out  a  tuck  in  the 
opera-house." 

Behind  the  scenes  there  was  the  customary  hectic 
flurry  incident  to  the  first  production  of  an  amateur  play. 
Every  player  was  keyed  to  the  highest  tension.  Out  in 
the  body  of  the  house  a  rising  hum  of  voices  registered 
the  eagerness  and  the  size  of  the  audience  and  the  open- 


191 


192  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

ing  strains  of  the  orchestra  announced  that  the  great  hour 
was  near  at  hand. 

Emily  Harbridge  had  arrived  a  few  minutes  before 
with  Harry  Ellgate.  To  Bud  Andrews  she  never  had 
looked  more  lovely.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her 
eyes  dancing  with  a  nervous  exhilaration,  and  Bud 
observed  that  her  attitude  toward  Ellgate  had  suddenly 
become  markedly  friendly. 

"I  wonder  if  she's  decided  to  take  that  bird."  he 
thought  imeasily.  At  the  first  opportunity  he  spoke  to 
her. 

"I  may  have  some  interesting  news  for  you  before 
long,  Bud,"  she  said,  laughing.  There  was  a  suggestion 
of  recklessness  in  her  manner  that  was  new  to  her. 

"Wedding  bells?"  he  asked  quicldy. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  saying."  Then  she  ran  to  her  dressing- 
room  with  a  backward  glance  at  the  puzzled  face  of  Bud 
Andrews. 

"Well,  be  gosh ;  be  gosh !"  he  mvittered.  "She's  made 
up  her  mind.  I'm  in  the  discard,  and  Tom's  on  the  skids, 
and  'Handsome  Harry'  wins  out." 

Through  his  mind  shot  a  quick  succession  of  thoughts. 
He  remembered  Ellgate  when  he  first  arrived  in  Grange- 
field,  the  marks  of  dissipation  in  his  face.  He  remem- 
bered the  shaking  hands  as  they  lighted  cigarette  after 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  193 

cigarette  and  to  his  practised  eye  these  symptoms  were 
eloquent  of  a  lurid  past. 

Ellgate  had  been  "hitting  it  up,"  and  had  come  to  the 
country  to  sober  down,  if  for  nothing  more  serious.  Who 
knew  ?  For  weeks  he  had  not  touched  a  drop.  His  nerves 
were  normal,  his  hands  steady,  and  his  eyes  clear,  yet 
Bud  could  not  help  but  feel  that  his  regeneration  was  a 
matter  open  to  grave  doubts. 

"If  he  marries  Emily,  he's  got  to  show  me  that  he 
won't  flop  back.  He's  got  to  submit  to  the  acid  test,  and 
it's  got  to  be  applied  P.  D.  Q." 

With  these  reflections,  and  convinced  that  he  was  act- 
ing for  the  good  of  a  dear  friend,  Bud  made  hasty  i)repa- 
rations.  He  was  sorry  to  ruin  Harry,  provided  Harry 
fell,  but  it  was  the  only  way  he  could  think  of  to  save 
EmOy,  If  Ellgate  came  through  all  right,  so  much  the 
better.  If  he  didn't,  Emily  would  have  time  to  renig 
before  it  was  too  late. 

The  audience  was  becoming  impatient.  A  few  desul- 
tory handclaps,  like  the  first  scattered  shots  of  a  battle, 
grew  in  volume  until  the  house  was  in  a  clamorous  uproar. 
The  boys  in  the  gallery  were  whistling  and  stamping,  and 
the  orchestra  was  dro^\^led  in  the  din. 

Harry  Ellgate,  in  his  make-up,  was  rushing  back  and 
forth  behind  the  curtain  like  a  cai)tain  marshaling  his 


194  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

forces  for  the  zero  hour.  Excited  performers,  each 
wholly  concerned  with  himself,  were  clutching  him  from 
right  and  left.  "Is  my  make-uj)  all  right'?"  "Where's 
my  props?"  "How  do  I  look?"  "What  did  you  say  I 
was  to  do  in  that  third  scene?" 

Harry  was  half  frantic. 

Bud  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  whispered. 

"How  about  a  small  drink?" 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  Harry  hesitated. 

Perhaps  he  knew  the  consequences  of  the  first  drink — 
how  the  taste  would  arouse  the  dormant  craving  and  de- 
stroy all  restraint.  Perhaps  experience  had  taught  him 
the  danger  of  stirring  that  slumbering  apjoetite,  that 
sleeping  madness  in  his  blood,  which,  once  aroused,  was 
instantly  beyond  control. 

Bud  drew  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and  Harry  looked 
at  the  ruby  clearness  of  the  liquid  with  a  sort  of  fearful 
fascination  in  his  eyes. 

"I'm  all  shot  to  pieces,  Bud.  This  play  has  gotten  on 
my  nerves  something  frightful.  Perhaps  one  small  one 
will  pull  me  together. ' ' 

With  nervous  eagerness  he  took  a  swallow,  then  a 
longer  one,  and  with  the  bottle  in  his  hand  he  looked  at 
Bud  as  though  reluctant  to  yield  it.  There  was  a  pathetic 
appeal  in  his  eyes. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  195 

"A  life  saver,"  lie  murmured.  "I  may  want  another 
little  drink  before  tlie  show's  over." 

"That's  all  right.  Keep  it  till  after  it's  over,"  said 
Bud,  and  as  Harry  turned  to  his  dressing-room  Bud 
gazed  after  him  with  his  face  shadowed  by  a  touch  of 
sadness. 

"It's  a  rotten  trick,  a  dirty,  low  down  trick,  but  if  he's 
weak,  now  is  the  time  to  know  it." 

A  moment  later  the  bell  soimded,  announcing  the  ris- 
ing of  the  curtain.  The  noise  from  the  audience  suddenly 
stilled  and  the  house  sat  in  expectant  silence  as  the  curtain 
creaked  slowly  upward. 


With  the  rising  of  the  curtain  for  the  first  act  of  She 
Stoops  to  Conquer  there  began  an  experience  which 
Grangefield  wOl  never  forget.  Expecting  an  old  English 
comedy,  the  audience  witnessed  a  painful,  pathetic  drama 
not  contemplated  by  the  author  of  the  play. 

The  house  was  packed  and  the  audience  was  in  its  most 
generous  mood.  Bursts  of  enthusiasm  greeted  the  appear- 
ance of  each  performer.  Emily  Harbridge,  as  Kate 
Hardcastle,  was  hailed  by  an  explosion  of  applause  that 
rocked  the  house.  Harry  Ellgate,  appearing  later  in  the 
first  act  as  young  Marlow,  received  a  welcome  the  warmth 
of  which  testified  to  the  popular  place  he  had  won  for 
himself  in  the  community. 

His  first  spoken  lines  revealed  a  distinction  and  abil- 
ity unusual  in  an  amateur.  To  a  striking  degree  he 
possessed    that    strange    quality    called    "personality," 


197 


198  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

which  captures  the  instant  and  watchful  interest  of  an 
audience. 

The  curtain  went  down  amid  a  storm  of  applause  in 
which  shouts  of  ai^proval  mingled.  Time  after  time  the 
players  responded  to  curtain  calls,  and  when  an  imposing 
basket  of  American  Beauty  roses  was  handed  over  the 
footlights  to  Emily  a  buzz  of  excited  whispering  swept 
through  the  audience. 

Emily  had  made  a  big  hit,  but  the  honors  of  the  act 
easily  fell  to  Harry  Ellgate,  whose  acting  had  really  been 
remarkable.  The  favor  of  the  audience  was  manifested 
when  he  again  came  on  the  stage  in  the  second  act. 

He  threw  himself  into  his  part  with  a  spirit  which 
called  forth  frequent  interruptions  of  ajiplause.  He 
acted  as  one  inspired,  and  the  animated  whispering  in  the 
audience  reflected  the  belief  that  he  was  insj^ired  by 
Emily  Harbridge. 

He  declined  to  take  a  curtain  call  alone  in  spite  of  the 
evident  wish  of  the  house  to  force  this  honor  upon  him. 

The  big  scene  between  Kate  Hardcastle  and  young 
Marlow  in  the  third  act  was  the  one  upon  which  the  great- 
est expectations  were  centered.  Their  first  appearance 
came  late  in  the  act,  and,  as  the  passage  approached,  the 
other  performers  crowded  into  the  wings  to  enjoy  the 
high  spot  in  the  play. 


THE     EESTLESS    AGE  199 

As  before,  Harry  was  hailed  by  wild  applause — yet  he 
had  not  spoken  two  lines  before  a  questioning  wave  swept 
through  the  house. 

The  audience  became  painfully  uncomfortable.  Every 
eye  was  gazing,  fascinated,  as  the  realization  grew  that 
all  was  not  well. 

Something  was  wrong  with  Ellgate.  In  the  tense 
hush  people  glanced  at  one  another !  What  in  the  world 
had  happened  to  Harry  Ellgate  ? 

His  enunciation,  previously  so  distinct,  had  become 
thick  and  faltering.  Twice  he  repeated  his  words.  His 
movements  were  uncertain  and  so  unsteady  that  once  he 
barely  escaped  falling  by  seizing  a  chair.  The  audience 
knew  his  actions  were  not  part  of  the  play. 

And  the  audience,  every  sense  alert,  did  not  miss  the 
quick,  significant  glances  that  Emily  Harbridge  shot  at 
Harry,  the  sudden  look  of  awakening  alarm  in  her  eyes 
as  he  said:    "I  vow,  Emily,  you  are  vastly  handsome." 

The  line  in  the  play  read :  "I  vow,  child,  you  are  vastly 
handsome," 

And  a  moment  later,  from  the  way  he  said  the  lines, 
"Suppose  I  should  call  for  a  taste,  just  by  way  of  trial,  of 
the  nectar  of  your  lips,"  there  was  not  a  person  in  the 
crowded  house  but  knew  that  he  was  drunk. 

Emily's  distress  was  evident,  and  from  the  strained 


200  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

silence  of  the  house  now  arose  an  undertone  of  comment 
which  grew  to  an  excited  murmur. 

When  Harry  Ellgate  seized  the  struggling  Emily  and 
cried  out  thickly :  "And  why  not  now,  my  angel?  Such 
beauty  fires  beyond  the  power  of  resistance!"  the 
audience  saw  her  throw  a  wild,  appealing  glance  out 
across  the  footlights,  where  it  rested  for  one  startled 
instant  upon  an  unexpected  face  in  the  crowd. 

This  speech  was  Harry's  exit  cue,  but  he  simply  clung 
to  the  struggling  girl  in  his  arms. 

Some  one  shouted:  "Pull  down  the  curtain!"  and 
after  a  distressing  pause  the  curtain  hastily  descended 
upon  a  stage  filled  with  hurrying  figures  hustling  Harry 
Ellgate  from  view. 

Then  the  storm  broke.  Relieved  from  nervous  ten- 
sion, the  confusion  in  the  house  rose  to  an  angry  uproar. 
The  orchestra,  slowly  awakening  to  the  need  of  the  sitvia- 
tion,  started  up  a  lively  tune,  which  was  as  suddenly 
stilled  by  Bud  Andi'ews'  appearance  before  the  curtain. 

He  raised  a  hand  and  there  was  instant  silence. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  owing  to  the  unfortunate 
indisposition  of  one  of  the  company,  the  performance 
can  not  continue.  We  desire  to  thank  you  for  your  at- 
tendance and  express  a  deep  regret  that  the  play  can  not 
be  concluded." 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  201 

And  this  was  Tom  Wickham's  homecoming!  Arriv- 
ing on  the  evening  train,  he  had  gone  direct  to  the  opera- 
house  to  seek  Emily  Harbridge.  He  was  an  amazed  wit- 
ness of  Harry  Ellgate's  disgrace  and  Emily's  humilia- 
tion. 

Pressing  against  the  current  in  the  crowded  aisles,  he 
made  his  way  behind  the  scenes.  He  caught  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  Emily,  but  she  hurried  out  without  speaking  to 
him.    He  had  a  feeling  she  had  purposely  cut  him. 

Harry  sat  slumped  in  a  chair,  his  head  buried  in  his 
hands,  his  shoulders  shaking  with  sobs. 

"I'm  no  good,  I'm  no  good,"  he  kept  repeating  as  the 
consequences  of  his  misstep  penetrated  into  his  conscious- 
ness. 

It  was  Tom  who  got  him  safely  home  and  to  bed  at  the 
Wickham  farm-house. 


The  moming  after  the  painful  collapse  of  the  amateur 
plaj'  Tom  Wickham  drove  over  to  the  Harbridge  farm 
and  was  told  that  Emily  was  not  in. 

Twice  again  that  day  he  had  the  same  experience.  To 
his  telephone  calls  he  received  the  same  response,  and  he 
knew  then  that  she  was  purposely  avoiding  him. 

Was  she  in  love  with  Harry  Ellgate?  And  had  the 
humiliating  experience  with  Ellgate  made  her  determined 
to  isolate  herself  from  her  friends? 

Many  people  begin  to  appreciate  things  only  when 
they  are  threatened  with  the  loss  of  them.  The  thought 
that  Emily  Harbridge  might  be  passing  out  of  his  life 
brought  home  to  him  the  realization  of  how  very  much 
she  meant  to  him. 

All  the  happy  anticipations  of  his  homecoming  were 
shattered  by  Emily's  course  in  avoiding  him. 

Harry  Ellgate  was  still  at  the  Wickliam  farm  fighting 


203 


204  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

off  a  threatened  fever.  He  was  intensely  depressed.  He 
felt  that  he  had,  in  one  weak  hour,  forfeited  all  the  esteem 
which  he  had  won  by  months  of  clean  living  in  the 
country. 

He  reflected  bitterly  upon  the  pitiless  judgments  of 
the  small  community. 

"How  fickle  is  public  favor!  With  you  when  you're 
on  the  crest,  against  you  when  you're  in  the  trough." 

Two  mornings  later  Tom  and  Harry  were  talking. 
Tom  had  just  returned  from  Grangefield,  where  the  big 
topic  of  conversation  was  Harry's  spectacular  fall  from 
grace. 

"Everybody's  wondering  where  you  got  the  stuff, 
Harry.  They  say  they  never  heard  of  you  drinking  any- 
thing before  down  here." 

' '  I  haven 't  touched  a  drop  for  months — imtil  the  other 
night.    That 's  the  tragedy  of  it. ' ' 

"But  where  did  you  get  it?" 

"Andrews  gave  it  to  me  just  before  the  play." 

"Did  he  give  it  to  you  or  did  you  ask  him  for  if?" 

Harry  paused  and  Tom  quicldy  added : 

"He  offered  it  to  you,  didn't  he?  Isn't  that  so?  He 
offered  it  to  you  just  before  you  went  on,  didn't  he?" 

Harry  did  not  answer.  When  he  spoke  it  was  with  no 
feeling. 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  205 

"It's  all  my  own  fault.  I  ought  to  know  enough  by 
this  time  not  to  trifle  with  it.  Some  people  can  drink 
moderately.    I  can't.    When  I  start  it's  all  off." 

"I'll  bet  Andrews  knew  that!"  exclaimed  Tom  indig- 
nantly.   ' '  But  why  should  he  want  to  get  you  in  bad  ? ' ' 

Harry  smiled  ruefully. 

"I  guess  he  must  have  considered  me  a  rival." 

It  was  Tom's  turn  to  be  silent. 

"Tom,  I  suppose  you  know  what  a  fine  girl  Emily  is. 
It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  I've  been  trying  for  some 
time  to  induce  her  to  marry  me.  The  evening  before  the 
play  I  began  to  think  I  had  a  chance.  She  suddenly 
changed  in  her  attitude  and  I  could  have  sworn  she  had 
decided  to  take  a  chance  with  me." 

Tom's  face  was  very  grave. 

"I  always  knew  she  was  in  love  with  you,  Tom.  But 
you  stayed  away  and  didn't  seem  to  care.  A  girl  that's 
worth  having  is  worth  working  hard  to  get,  and  you  cer- 
tainly were  not  doing  that. 

"I  still  think  you're  the  only  one  she  likes,  Tom,  and 
that  something  hapjDened  in  the  last  few  days  that  con- 
vinced her  that  you  had  thrown  her  over." 

"I  verote  her  that  I  was  coming  down  the  night  of  the 
play,"  Tom  exclaimed.    "Did  she  mention  that  to  you?" 

"Not  a  word.    She  said  she  had  not  seen  you  in  the 


206  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

city,  but  that's  all.  She  seemed  anxious  to  avoid  discuss- 
ing you. ' ' 

"I  wonder  if  my  letter  reached  her,"  said  Tom.  "If 
she  knew  I  was  coming  down  it  seems  natural  she  would 
have  mentioned  it  to  you,  no  matter  how  little  interest 
she  may  have  had  in  me.    She  knew  we  were  old  friends. " 

"Hasn't  she  seen  you  yet?" 

"No;  unless  she  saw  me  at  the  play." 

"My  advice,  Tom,  is  to  go  over.  Stay  there  till  she 
does  see  you.  I'm  out  of  the  running.  Besides,  if  she 
had  taken  me  I  think  it  would  have  been  from  wounded 
pride,  or  on  the  rebound,  I  had  no  illusions  about  how  I 
stood,  but  even  at  that  I'd  have  taken  a  chance." 

Tom's  further  course  of  action  was  influenced  by  a 
letter  which  came  from  Sadie  Johnson. 

Dear  Tom :  I  made  a  fierce  mistake.  Do  you  remem- 
ber I  told  you  that  Miss  Morland  called  one  da}^  while  you 
were  out?  Well,  it  wasn't  Miss  ^lorland  at  all,  but  some 
one  else — the  same  girl  whose  picture  you  had  on  your 
bureau.  I  made  the  mistake  of  assuming  that  the  picture 
was  one  of  Miss  Morland.  To-day  the  real  Miss  Morland 
called.  I  recognized  her  by  her  voice,  which  I  have  often 
heard  on  the  garage  telephone.  She  called  to  ask  if  you 
were  ill,  for  she  expected  you  the  evening  before  and  you 
had  not  come.  I  told  her  you  had  gone  home  the  day 
before,  and  she  said  there  was  surely  some  mistake,  for 
you  had  written  her  that  you  were  coming  last  night — 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  207 

Through  Tom's  fevered  imagination  a  thread  of  de- 
ductive reasoning  took  form.  He  must  have  got  the 
letters  switched  in  their  envelopes!  What  a  mess!  He 
had  written  Emily  that  he  was  surely  coming,  and  this 
letter  must  have  reached  Lucille ! 

Great  Scott !  Then  Emily  must  have  received  the  one 
meant  for  Lucille ! 

It  explained  everything.  No  wonder  Emily  avoided 
him.  It  explained  her  sudden  change  of  attitude  toward 
Harrv  EUgate. 

Tom  leaped  into  his  car  and  drove  madly  to  the  home 
of  Emily  Harbridge,  who  was  coming  in  from  the  garage. 

She  saw  him  too  late  to  escape,  and  he  intercepted  her 
at  the  door. 


In  vain  Emily  Harbiidge  tried  to  conceal  the  agita- 
tion she  felt.  The  look  of  indifference  with  which  she 
sought  to  veil  her  emotions  failed  miserably  of  its 
purpose. 

One  glance  into  the  intense  face  of  Tom  Wickham  told 
her  it  was  no  time  for  polite  dissembling.  He  was  so  ter- 
ribly in  earnest.  Without  warning,  a  crisis  was  at  hand, 
and  she  looked  helplessly  about  her. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Emily,"  were  his  first  words. 
"That's  what  I  came  down  here  for  and  I'm  not  going  to 
leave  this  place  till  I  do." 

The  ice  was  broken,  and  with  it  she  found  herself 
regaining  control  of  her  emotions.  She  felt  she  could 
trust  her  voice  to  speak, 

"Then  by  all  means  talk." 

He  disregarded  the  implication  of  her  remark.  If  she 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  him,  that  could  come  later. 

"Did  you  get  a  letter  saying  I  was  coming  down?" 

209 


210  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

"No,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"Did  you  get  another  letter?" 

She  regarded  him  steadily  for  a  moment. 

"Yes — a  very  unkind  one." 

She  was  amazed  to  see  his  face  brighten  up  with  a  look 
of  gratification. 

"I  knew  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  two  letters  got 
switched  in  their  envelopes." 

In  spite  of  herself  she  revealed  her  deep  interest. 

' '  What  do  you  mean,  Tom  ?    What  letters  ? ' ' 

"The  letter  that  you  received  was  written  to  some  one 
else,  Emily." 

"Please  explain,"  she  demanded,  for  want  of  some- 
thing else  to  say,  but  within  her  she  was  conscious  of  a 
sudden  surging  elation. 

"I  wrote  you,  Emily,  that  I  was  coming  to  you  the 
night  of  the  play,  and  told  you  how  heartbroken  I  was  to 
have  missed  you  when  you  were  in  the  city." 

For  the  first  time  a  faint  smile  softened  the  gravity  of 
her  face. 

"The  letter  I  received  was  nothing  like  that,  Tom.  It 
was  a  horrid  letter." 

"Something  about  not  seeing  each  other  again?" 

"Yes "  and  she  quickly  added:    "But  for  whom 

was  that  letter  intended?" 


THE     RESTLESS    AGE  211 

In  her  mind  leaped  the  thought  of  Lucille  Morland, 
of  whose  association  with  Tom,  Harry  had  so  frequently 
referred. 

"It  was  some  one  in  the  city — some  one  to  whom  I  owe 
a  great  deal,  for  I  learned  through  her  how  much  I  love 
you,  Emily. ' ' 

His  face  was  white  with  earnestness  as  he  looked  into 
Emily's  ej^es.  His  voice  was  trembling  with  a  depth  of 
emotion  she  had  never  before  heard,  and  her  eyes  wavered 
and  fell. 

"You  don't  know  how  much  I've  longed  to  be  here 
with  you,  Emily.  If  I  learned  nothing  else  in  my  city 
experience,  I  learned  that. "  He  paused.  "  You  do  believe 
me,  Emily,  don't  you?" 

He  took  her  hand,  and  he  felt  it  tremble  a  little. 

There  was  a  suffocating  silence  that  seemed  to  last 
an  eternity,  and  then,  suddenly,  in  his  mind  dawned  the 
consciousness  that  she  had  not  withdrawn  her  hand. 

The  next  week's  issue  of  the  Grangefield  Gazette 
chronicled  two  interesting  bits  of  news.  One  was  the 
announcement  of  the  engagement  of  Thomas  Wickham 
and  Emily  Harbridge,  with  the  further  information  that 
the  young  couple  would  reside  in  the  old  homestead  on  the 
Wickham  farm. 


212  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

The  other  item  was  an  announcement  that  "Mr.  Harry 
Ellgate,  who  has  been  in  our  midst  for  some  months,  has 
engaged  the  opera-house  for  next  Friday  evening  and  will 
deliver  an  address  the  nature  of  which  has  not  been  dis- 
closed. Admission  will  be  free,  and  all  who  wish  to  attend 
are  cordially  invited  to  be  present." 

Of  the  two  announcements,  the  latter,  because  so  unus- 
ual and  unexpected,  aroused  the  deeper  interest. 

"What  in  the  world  does  it  mean?  And  what  does  he 
intend  to  talk  about?"  These  questions  arose  in  every 
mind.  The  interest  in  the  forthcoming  address  grew  and 
grew  until,  on  the  day  of  the  speech,  it  became  the 
supreme,  dominating  topic  in  every  conversation. 


y'.k'-'ii-r^e^'v' 


Ir  THE  Grangefield  Opera-House  was  crowded  the 
night  of  the  amateur  play,  which  was  abruptly  terminated 
by  Harry  Ellgate's  spectacular  lapse  from  grace,  it  was 
crammed  to  more  than  its  capacity  on  the  night  of  his 
speech.  Curiosity  and  the  lure  of  another  possible  sensa- 
tion were  too  much  even  for  those  most  noisily  outraged 
by  the  first  affair. 

It  was  shortly  after  eight  when  he  walked  out  on  to 
the- stage,  and  an  expectant  hush  fell  upon  the  house. 

He  spoke  easily  and  wdtli  the  utmost  composure. 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen:  I  am  leaving  Grangefield 
to-morrow,  and  before  I  go  there  is  something  I  want  to 
say.  I  am  not  trying  to  sell  you  anything  nor  ask  you  for 
anything. 

"If  any  one  has  come  to-night  expecting  something 
sensational,  he  will  be  disappointed.  In  that  respect  I 
have  already  contributed  more  than  my  share.    I  refer, 


213 


214  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

of  course,  to  the  painful  night  of  the  play  when  I  chose  an 
especially  inauspicious  moment  to  get  drunk.  For  that 
performance  I  have  written  apologies  to  each  member  of 
the  Dramatic  Club,  expressing  my  profound  regret  and 
the  hope  that  I  have  not  entirely  forfeited  their  good  will. 

"This  is  all  I  shall  have  to  say  regarding  that  incident. 

"As  most  of  you  know,  I  came  from  a  large  city  to 
work  as  a  farm  hand  in  this  community.  I  am  still  a  ten- 
derfoot among  you,  but  I  have  worked,  and  I've  worked 
with  m}^  eyes  open.  I  have  lived  both  lives,  which  is  my 
only  excuse  for  hoping  that  what  I  say  may  merit  your 
attention. 

"I  came  at  a  time  when  many  of  your  young  men  were 
flocking  to  the  cities.  Their  desertion  of  the  farms  had 
become  a  grave  problem,  and  the  more  enlightened  men 
among  you  were  giving  the  subject  the  serious  thought  it 
demanded.  I  say  'enlightened'  because  all  of  you  are  not 
enlightened. 

"Many  farm  hands  are  young  men.  They  were  con- 
tented before  the  war  because  most  of  them  knew  little  of 
the  attractions  of  citj-  life.  Now  that  so  many  have 
traveled  and  broadened  their  horizons  they  are  no  longer 
ignorant  of  the  poverty  of  diversion  in  the  average  farm- 
ing community. 

"If  you  are  going  to  keep  young  men  on  the  fanns 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  215 

you  must  give  greater  thought  to  wholesome  amusement 
for  them.  The  old  style  farmer  will  resist  this,  but  the 
old  style  farmer  is  not  going  to  survive.  He  is  fighting  a 
losing  fight  and  his  day  is  nearly  over. 

"Every  farming  commimity  has  its  organizations  for 
considering  economic  problems.  You  have  your  granges, 
your  local  boards  of  trade,  and  your  exhibitions.  But  just 
as  important  is  an  organization  in  every  community  to 
consider  and  provide  means  for  bettering  the  condition  of 
the  farm  hand,  give  him  wholesome  diversions,  and  put 
a  fair  share  of  enjoyment  into  his  life. 

* '  Provide  good  music,  clean  dancing,  competitive  ath- 
letics, and  good  reading,  not  too  high-brow — and,  above 
all,  see  to  it  that  your  farm  hand  is  not  too  dog  tired  to 
enjoy  any  or  all  of  them  frequently. 

"Give  the  women  variety.  Take  or  send  them  away 
in  the  dull  season.  That  will  amply  compensate  for  that 
other  season,  inseparable  from  farm  life,  when  it  is  neces- 
sary to  work  double  time. 

"If  a  farmer  and  his  famil}^  can  look  forward  only  to 
an  eternal  drab  monotony  of  hard  work,  meager  profits, 
and  long  hours,  then  why  in  the  name  of  heaven  should 
any  one  stay  on  the  farm"? 

"If  you  say  you  can't  afford  it,  it  is  not  true.  You 
farmers  are  the  backbone  of  the  whole  economic  struc- 


216  THE    RESTLESS    AGE 

ture.  The  world  could  worry  along  without  any  other 
class,  but  it  couldn't  exist  without  the  farmer. 

"There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  slave  to  produce 
that  which  middlemen  get  rich  in  handling.  No  profes- 
sion is  more  ancient  and  honorable.  It  is  a  clean  whole- 
some life  of  productivity,  infinitely  better  for  children, 
healthier  for  everybody,  safer  for  the  youth  of  both  sexes. 
There  is  no  reason  why  the  inestimable  advantages  of 
country  living  should  be  at  a  discount. 

"It  is  perhaps  true  there  are  greater  opportunities  in 
the  city,  opportunities  for  money  making,  but  that  is  the 
fault  of  a  system  which  should  be  changed.  The  farmer, 
as  his  is  the  most  necessary  and  vital  of  all  professions, 
should  have  a  first  lien  on  whatever  prosperity  a  country 
is  enjoying. 

"Improved  methods  of  marketing,  closer  organiza- 
tions for  the  mutual  welfare  of  farmers,  more  scientific 
methods  of  farming,  more  congenial  working  conditions 
— these  will  go  far  to  equalize  the  financial  rewards  in 
which  the  city  man  now  exacts  the  cream. 

"I  could  say  something  about  the  sloppy  habits  of 
over- worked  farm  women,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  unneces- 
sarily rude.  Travel  will  teach  the  farm  woman  the  value 
of  being  neat  and  attractive. 

"No  man  who  has  tried  both  citv  and  farm  life  will 


THE    RESTLESS    AGE  217 

give  up  his  cut-and-dried  city  job,  with  leisure  he  can  call 
his  own,  for  an  endless  succession  of  chores  which  never 
seem  to  get  done,  an  insufficiently  heated  or  lighted  room, 
meals  of  little  variety  served  sloppily  on  a  soiled  table- 
cloth (remember,  I  am  not  accusing  everybody!)  and 
nothing  to  do  with  his  time  when  he  does  get  any. 

"And  no  wonder  the  women  don't  serve  their  meals  in 
city  style  and  dress  with  immaculate  neatness.  What 
woman  would  willingly  exchange  her  compact,  steam 
heated  apartment,  with  a  handy  bakery  around  the  cor- 
ner, for  the  entire  responsibility  of  an  old-fashioned, 
inconvenient  farm-house  and  a  back-number  farm,  to  be 
at  the  beck  and  call  of  everybody  and  to  help  with  all  their 
odd  jobs,  but  with  nobody  to  help  her  % 

"One  thing  you  will  all  have  to  help  to  change  before 
the  young  men  and  women  will  come  back  to  you,  and  that 
is  the  idea  that  life  on  the  farm  is  a  synonym  for  'mo- 
notonous drudgery,'  which  unfortunately  it  now  is  in  the 
minds  of  many. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  beg  to  remind  you  of  the 
many — in  this  conmiunit.y — very  wonderful  examples  of 
enlightenment.  Personally  I  shall  leave  the  farm  with 
regret.  You  have  been  kind  to  me.  I  wish  I  might  take 
with  me  your  good  will,  but  if  I  have  lost  that  it  is  my 
misfortune.    I  thank  you  for  your  attention." 


218  THE     RESTLESS    AGE 

As  Harry  concluded  the  applause  was  desultory,  but 
not  unflattering.  It  was  that  of  an  audience  preoccupied 
with  new  ideas.  And  the  warmth  of  the  hand  grasps  of 
those  men  and  women  who  were  in  the  habit  of  using  their 
heads  as  well  as  their  hands  stayed  long  in  the  memory  of 
the  departing  Harry. 

Tom  Wickham  walked  out  into  the  moonlight,  his 
head  full  of  a  Utopian  vision  of  endless  quiet,  clean,  pros- 
perous farming  commimities  where  all  the  Sadie  John- 
sons of  the  world  would  be  stronger  and  happier  and  all 
the  Lucille  Morlands  softer  and  sweeter — and  his  heart 
very  full  of  the  one  Emily  Harbridge  in  the  world,  just 
as  she  was,  working  with  him  toward  his  ideal. 

The  End 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

.            LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

LIBRARY  USE 

NOW  17  19^ 

1 

HcC  D  LD 

NOV  17  1962 

^?^?SH?br__      ^-^^lg^°'- 

'  U/      II  DUO 


ivJ1826S7 


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